In The Badlands

It waits
sage blooms
dotted like strokes
from a madman's brush
twisted into the rocks
leaves panting in the dry air
waiting for the first drops of life
crystal energy from SkyFather
a reminder that all below
is seen

I crouch
wiping my hand gritty
across my brow
and shade my eyes
looking through the waves of heat
stretching from rim to rim
dancing beiges and taupe
broken only by an eagle
wheeling high above
and waiting.

I sit
scanning the beige mesa
broken by the veins of umber
like tiny rivers of thought
in the arid sands of nothing
ivory keys wait
like the bones of a buffalo
sheltering a tiny mouse
poised for a *click*
to spring to life

...in the Badlands....

©2002

[writer's block... all this one needs is Jane Cole playing 'A Horse with No Name' on her guitar]