hope flies on silent wings
she has had enough of this place
you rub your thumb
across sun-warmed obsidian
swipe a swathe of dust
from the arrowhead’s glowering face
this is your only warning
despair boils over the ridgeline
storm wool carded in gleaming spines
of prickly pear melting
reduced to vascular mesh in the sand
lightning crackles across sheetrock skies
spackling the clouds with veins of gold
pristine ore
you mine with eager eyes
the wind moans
fingers twisting in your hair
thunder growls from the junipers
*first line is the last line from Owl Moon by Jane Yolen
