In autumn, broody season,
garden conversations turn philosophical,
leaves pontificating on life’s brevity, the weight
of maturity. Seed-heavy, your head bows.
“Ode to Sunflowers”
Adobe Odes, 2006
I feel like a small child
only able to speak very simple
all the time I feel incomplete
“Learning English: Chorus in Many Voices”
My Own True Name, 2000
She carries a green river,
heavy, but it hums.
In any desert, she can bow her head
and sip from her own arms.
Agua Santa: Holy Water, 1995
on my Texas desert.”
“For Georgia O’Keeffe,”
Chants, 1984 (my first book)
“I speak words of faith—practice, practice.
I pick up the next shoe or boot—like us,
it needs patient attention and repair.”
Encantado: Desert Monologues