Something about you

whispers to my gypsy heart.

Hard scrabble sagebrush-

roots reaching down

in search of water

that is not coming from the sky.

Dust storms swirl above mesas -

flat with erosion

and ancient stories.

Abandoned cars under bridges -

stories of lives they’ve taken…lost to history.

I can feel the hoof beats of the vaquero’s horse

galloping across the dry plains,

my ancestor.

Did he look to the west

and see thunderheads?

Hoping as I do?

Did wagon wheels get stuck in the red clay?

Did hearts reach for the big sky of New Mexico

as mine does?

Voices echo off the canyon walls,

calling home my nomad’s heart…

begging me to stay and return

to the caliche dust

with my forefathers.