Those Dreams of You in Santa Fe

In Santa Fe, the sun sets over those

ancient

arid

Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

          Beautiful Blood Red

          Beyond Blood Red

                                                                              Clouds like the tails of palominos.

 

Under the sun

and those clouds

          -whispy-

          -white-

I strummed steel strings

strung along a birch body;

          curved like a woman

          it sang for a woman.

 

And I sang, mon cour

And I sang, baby doll…

She was everything this young man needed

and I would be there for her 

          as long as she was there for me

          …as long as she was there for me.

 

                                                         My guitar gently wept before I knew I would have to.

 

In Santa Fe the sun sets over those mountains

again

again.

The newly cristened, Sangre de Corazon, mountains,

dyed each night in the blood of the love of my heart

which had loved and had lost love and was love lost…

 

And in Santa Fe I wept on a sun soaked dashboard;

I held my breath and felt a pulse paranormal;

I took a pen to my jugular to write of life.

I slept in relentless dreams of you

I slept in relentless dreams of you

I slept in relentless dreams of you

relentless recurrent resurging restricting…

 

I slept in a picture of my hand on the small of your back

while your breath whispered warmth in a wandering ear.