Whorls of waters left —
and fate walked this way.

Forests waked and pined —
daybreaks: white and hot.

Then silence and the heat —
wild — bare — rock-fanged.

The Missions stood alone —
old crusted cactus-crowns.

Tired litanies turned to dust
— filled the weary yesterdays.

And still, silent leagues of sand
— desert sunsets – and the end.

Oh, black bear — carry me out!
out! out into higher hills of light

. . . . .

Poet: Susan Powers Bourne
Source: Sharlot Hall: Cactus and Pine, pp1-93
Process: Pick and mix cento