loyd.net

I miss the land
      wide,
      high,
      broad,
      flat,
      plain,
Where you can see from horizon
      to far horizon;
Where the sunsets are patchworks of color
      (because the dry dust floats
      forever suspended in the air,
      as particles and time stand still together);
Where the parched ground demands of you
      your sweat
      for its meager moisture;
Where at night the stars shine
      their light unpolluted;
Where the wind sings continuously
Unimpeded by anything more
      than a mesquite bush;
Where the landscape seems alien,
      Ancient,
      Yet untouched,
            untamed,
            unremembered
(You could lose yourself in this land).
This land. . .
Where you feel as though you could step
      into infinity;
Where your unhindered vision sees beyond
      even that;
Where you feel alone in the universe,
Yet comforted by the embrace of the
      ever-present,
      ever-singing wind.

For the Flowers A Sense of Place The Mimosas