Time Travel

In Arizona, the sun walked away

hours ago, the night growing

chill under that sky like a house with no walls

to hold the heat. You have crawled inside

your sleeping bag, your heart

resting from another uphill day carrying

camera and equipment and the load it left here with

minus what it’s relinquished along the way

like a hiker growing savvy as the trail looms long.

Here, the ocean still wears the sky

like a scarf, Scheherazade spinning

stories that hold off the night a little

longer. The setting sun hovers like a pendant

over her wide breast. I want

to pluck it, tuck it tightly in my hand,

take it to bed like a warming stone. You

will see it when you wake at dawn, another healing

talisman among the rocks you have chosen

by now, yours and mine. No burden,

their easy weight. Balance for sure footing

all the way home to me.

Published in Writers of the Mendocino Coast Anthology 2020: Red Sky, page 93