" Montana Roja Revisited "
When I step from the plane, I will only need
that first suck of air,
the impossible blue above to take my hand.
I need a calm day to make this ascent,
clear air to show me the Badlands of the Enchantress
stretch like a lioness to the lace of the ocean;
that grey mist distance, tasting of Africa.
I have an old photograph of this summit,
pushing my hair back against the Tradewinds,
skin burned by sun and kisses.
Half caught words and dreams fashioned themselves
into melting clouds and the songs of sea-wolves.
I see you here, the curve of your nutmeg hands
against the brightness and silence.
The movement of lips dried by late spring air,
tears and offerings to the ancient abyss.
I follow your steps, as always.
I will celebrate the intricate lace of life,
the takings, losses and laughter.
I will sing and only the island will hear.
When I turn my face to the sun,
my hands will form roots in this loose earth.
The silence here is speckled only with bright
patches of sea grape and thyme.
I will take your soul into mine, and the journey
of friends gone before will shine for me
as the comforting path I will take someday.
I will sing for you here, and speak of nothing.
My offerings will free your spirit, and maybe
on my descent into the white village far below,
an eagle will take my words on his wings,
carry them to you.
© 2004 Vienna (Carole Barley)
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