El Donado Marcos de la Sierra

Day after day the lizards dance on the sand. When the sun climbs high the mountains won’t sit still. Even the tortoise toiling as little as he can moves in time with the maguey’s sharp-tongued shadow.

Sun. Tree. Stone. Sky. The will to circle in the wind. To walk like Lucifer up & down in the earth or lope like Coyote, always one meal from the end.

Let the fullness without break the drought within– the way all teeming prayers & curses seem to seed the clouds, go stepping out with feet of rain on a Galilee of air.

This very day I too will begin dancing.