She came to the desert
To walk on the edge of a knife
The paint brush her weapon of expression
The green of New York did not inspire her
Vastness held her wonder, her spirit
The loner in the desert, found her own way
Her ashes and essence sparkle in the dryscape
I seek only a glint of her inspiration
A creative raindrop in the elusive oasis
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Primavera Falso
I wrote this poem in the spring of 2019. I remember it today as I wake up to the lightest dusting and cloudy skies. Primavera Falso Green...
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Sometime in March, as my trip to the Jersey Shore was on the horizon, my brother asked me if I would like to attend the inaugural Avon by th...
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I wrote this poem in the spring of 2019. I remember it today as I wake up to the lightest dusting and cloudy skies. Primavera Falso Green...
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A short easy drive up to Ghost Ranch , Abiquiu, NM this morning. This ranch is owned and operated by the Presbyterian Church since 1955, bu...
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