Last night above the hills you crept

Rain caressing the mesa as you wept

Tears of all who walked this way

Shadows of souls still wandering today

 

Listen, If only these hills could speak

Wind boisterous and bold but never meek

Land with voice, stripped raw and naked

Holding bones of the many sacred

 

Tell me who you were, what happened here

I feel your presence, strong and clear

In the still of night you visited my room

Memories of your life weaving a mystical loom

 

Speak soft and quietly if you must

I hear your whisper between grains of dust

Heat of daylight silencing the bustling squalls

As the final moment encroaches, inscribing the wall.

-Lavinia Busch, 2018