Land sloped up from a dry creek bed
where tumble down buildings faded in the sun;
beneath the willows a story
imagined long before the journey.

Spike thorn tore our clothes,
thin gruel the only food.
Climbing broken ledges
to draw what piñon rooted
from the rock strewn scree,

we followed clues, laboring to be kind
while something old and unborn
waited above the ridge line
calling us into the land beyond.

 

 

6 Responses

  1. it is powerful. A bare bones Haiku, evoking longing and familiarity. you are moving in the company of the great pacific,north west writers, Lilbrn, Bringhurst, Doyle and Duncan.

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