Cross

Our story eclipses the shadows

of the vanishing moon.

.

Light rising on strands,

touching high desert loneliness,

an intentional melancholy.

.

Meditations resting gently

on upraised shoulders

strained from a steady weight,

as infinity bleeds.

.

Mara sees deeply

inside these moments

of awakening,

my spirit guardian.

.

Chipmunks, jackrabbits dance

through her unbiased spectacles,

not as lost as ideas inherited

from an alien past.

.

This beautiful concoction

and exquisite malaise,

.

kisses the lips of a thirsty wanderer

with no more dragons left to slay,

.

face to an ancient horizon,

left with a decrepit cross

no longer burdened

with the nails of dead myths,

.

or itinerant heroes.

Stories never meant for us,

.

but the wood fallen forward,

the wanderer leaving

.

the birthing dawn.

.

Traveling towards the direction

of tomorrow and home.