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Lynn Edge

On My Mind

weathered bones
on my mind
a wind pierced body
~ Basho, trans. Robert Hass

My life becomes sepia. Only the Sacramento Mountains of New Mexico remain clear, a visible form of grace.

Valley of Roses
daffodils line
the chapel path

These mountains gave me the joy of one foot after another on the Cloudcroft Trail, sun streaming through tall ponderosas with the Tularosa Valley below. Why did it take so long to appreciate my legs?

Trips from Texas to New Mexico blur. Instead of years, I remember seasons. An elk and her calf dash across the road and up the mountainside, pebbles rolling in their wake. Scent of dusky blue spruce. Fuchsia aspen leaves in early autumn. Wedding white of new snow.

summer heat
plum-red chilies
beneath the eaves

I lie in bed with my vision: a house near the Rio Hondo—not mine, but one I wish were mine. An adobe with a stained glass door above steps painted blue.

evening ...
the slow rotations
of an old gristmill