The Watchman

He sits and waits,
the cravings crawl from his mind.
They ride the lost winds that
mercifully hover before his Gatekeeper.

Her maturity faulters on the edge
poised between earth and sky.
A young soul housed within
an azure blue of middle age.

A strength from within, burns under her skin
feminine eyes blink back tears of the past
their path frozen upon dusty red rocks,
fracturing a youth filled terra.

Elks whistle, grouse dance. . .
echoing through canyons filled with silent solace.
Illuminated betwixt open spaces of healing red,
undaunted, she stands before the Watchman.

He beckons for her to follow,
hand held out for her approach,
pushing her into a joyful torrent.
His is an addiction to share one's mirth.

Protective love wrapped in burly arms.
Luring her into the new world,
the seduction of change
filled with pink folds of clay upon the horizon.