If These Hills Could Speak
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