Pilgrimage: Week 48: Sidewalk Café

She huddles under her coat
occasionally rubbing her hands
through her hair
there is grief there
sorrow
fear
I wonder why she's here

Pilgrimage: ¿Is it 42?: Driving to Salinas

I think of César and Steinbeck
what are the farm workers tossing on the conveyor?
Beets? Carrots? I don't know
the names of the plants got lost two generations ago
Grapes? Recognizable from years of vineyard tastings
Maybe it's leaf lettuce for the insatiable San Francisco foodies
I wish I knew the names of the plants
and the people who pick them

Pilgrimage: Week 41: Cup

I seek wisdom in cafés
hugs from strangers
smiles from the blind
drinking draughts of sky
I spin on golden leaves
and take flight

Pilgrimage: Big Sisters and Little

This slim golden hair, stepsister to 
the broad cottonwood, 
Cinderella aspen 
     holds the hill 
We drive here every year to see 

the blanket of the southwest
gold coin and ever green with occasional
spurts of blistery red, 
              I wear terrible shoes
to make the hike into sky but you
press me onward from behind
prince of a companion who spies

the small hearts

raining down

matchstick girl
with tools to clear the air
for chimney and for winter

withstanding

Pilgrimage: Week 40: Bosque

it's a hard road we are walking
the sun shines down so fierce
I'd give my soul for some water
and they're cutting
the old cottonwoods down

they dammed all the water
in the Rio from the Grande
to the Mexican Bravo
there's only a sliver left of the Bosque
and they're cutting
the old cottonwood down

have they forgotten after a rain
the silver leaves raised to the heavens
as we sat hand-in-hand on the portal
and they're cutting
the old cottonwoods down

under the shade you see sky there
and birds that want to fly free
and lovers in awe of the mystery
but they're cutting
the old cottonwoods down