like poetry

I move through Canyons
the way a lover slips a hand between closed thighs –
pressing, yearning

I smell dirt, and flowers, and trees
the way an insurgent smokes his final cigarette, staring down the firing squad –
passionately, defiantly

I follow the sand-tracks of the soft-footed ones
the way a hungry child makes her way to the kitchen –
sniffing, grinning

I kneel and drink from the creek
the way a pilgrim finally kisses the cool black stone –
reverently, gratefully

I dance before the Goddess
the way young lovers first share a bed –
awkwardly, earnestly

I climb the cottonwood tree
the way a newborn first finds milk –
reaching, trusting

And I reach for my lover
the way I move through canyons –
like poetry