To My Friends Sandra, Richard, Jeanette, Geoffrey, and Lizzy
Where the red earth meets the blue bridal veil
bequeathed with dried leaves and desert flowers,
there she sits in her company of endless hours
weaving narrow channels beside lizard trails
As she gathers her maroon and black dress
into her arms, one dried by winter sun,
the other soaked in water young,
a great wind sweeps through the cracked wood.
And we sit quietly, breathless as we were born,
gasping, words lost in the long trail of her hair
shining with the light of myriad stars snared
in the dark canvass where death and life form.
We gift her our open eyes and sand-cracked feet—
an offering to a wedding each day repeats.