Somewhere South and a wee bit West

blood replenishes my hungry heart.

Because Colorado keeps it beating.

A roaring river drowns out

whispers of who walked these lands before me.

Before my father.

And my father’s father.

Certain stories remain forever...

kept quietly in the crevices of creeks.

deep in drained dark dirt,

deserted by old societies

and any sign of water.

It was the wind.

It was the wind all day and all night too.

We were edgy.

It was the wind making us edgy. Edgier

than usual. More restless

than usual. No one

could sleep waiting

for whatever the wind would bring.

First, the smell of the sea.

There is nothing here

that I need.

It is all

someplace else.

I need to find the place

where Morals are buried,

seek out

the road to Ethics,

drink

from the wells of Compassion,

bury my hands