i miss you

every night

wondering why this break

seems necessary

escaping discipline

wandering eyes

undressing disguises

while truth waits underneath the prehistoric wings of a sycamore tree

posted thick and high, between red rock slot canyons, a graying sky, whispering afternoon breezes drop, absorbed in dark water ripples

carrying songs

changing sounds, voices compound

still water waits

pooled to welcome mornings chill