from a collection entitled Stirrup of the Sun & Moon
35.6870° N, 105.9378° W
There are mornings when a Traveler returns
from the great lattice of catacombs
that link the invisible provinces together
and though the returned-traveler
is present in skin, blood, and bones,
they may need a while to find their words.
They may even be unable to give voice to what has been seen
because something of the perfume of the places they've been remains.
A trace of smoke left in the hair, a spice on the tongue,
the juice of berries staining fingertips, the fragrance of some unknown flower,
something of the spirit of place becomes forever embedded
within the rainbow-body of the Traveler.
It is night now.
I am swept up in one of my long reveries again.
Parked in front of a local cantina,
under no volition of my own
I have been sitting quietly for hours
being pulled along.
Eventually I snap out of it.
My present-moment eyes and ears
register the nearby sights and sounds.
An illuminated storefront.
A sun dress the color of faded salmon star lilies
stands headless in a window box.
A shaded balcony.
A slate-blue sky.
Magenta clouds beyond.
I realize, regardless of where I am
regardless of what my ears are hearing
what my eyes are seeing,
my heart-mind has been off again
New Mexico Dreaming.
My spirit is haunted.
Her skies at sunset. Her sloping hills.
Her piñon perfume. Her narrow lanes.
Her unparalleled mountain and desert authenticity.
But it's night,
and tonight I am in Mississippi
and sad Mexican ballads
are flowing from speakers shaped like river rocks
hidden at the edge of manicured bushes.
(c) 2019 / Frank La Rue Owen / purelandpoetry.com / Ensueño de Los Viajeros (Span., reverie of travelers)