Ghost Ranch

Sleeping in the Landscapes of O’Keffe
After moonlit walks with sand in my feet
I awoke to the sounds of scissortails
Rolled out on the red dirt of the trail
And breathed in fire and cotton clouds
Not long for my senses to be aroused
As a red ant frenzy organizes on the mound
The silts and dirts shift as winds sound
And humbles my spirit in the presence of art.
It is easier to reflect on the past
Than to absorb the present
So lost in a moment that the moment is lost
Grab that brush of fleeting thoughts
And paint the landscape before it’s tossed.