The microphone sits
Tucked in the studio
Ready to tell the stories
Of love and loss
The honest of the moment
Can be unraveled in front of the ear
Of the world
What webs weave leave that to you
And the musician who has crafted
The art of the time with the instrument
And the song at hand
To play just a moment
Can be a great honor
To be in front of the microphone
In the studio
Alone
The fox and the cactus live
Next to each other
As if brothers
In arms
But in the depth of the thicket of cactus
Is the birds sining their song
With the rabbits tucked away
The refuge of the desert you could say
Upon the floor of the sand
Stands a little man
From the desert within
The fox can only see this when he begins
To move the perimeter
But mutual respect upon the floor of the desert
As the fox doesn’t enter the cactus
And the cactus clears of the fox
How to know
When the smoke closes
In on the world
Creating a mystery of misery
Is this the beginning of a new chapter
Or the end of the familiar one
Said clear into the days fading light
So burnt in the smoke from the trees
Seething up north
Blowing through the jet stream
And brining it down to the desert
Upon the cactus the dust of travel
Awaits
As I decipher what chapter of the book
Is being played
Unto the evening
Of reds and purple
Skies of the desert
On fire with evening light
Descending
The longer the shadow cast
Brings in the evening air
Cool and crisp as the
Desert night
Cold upon the relinquished light
Take me to the desert near the
Camelback trail
The world at large
Could only bring this beauty
Upon my eyes to see
