Sangre De Christo Summer
No snow upon the Spanish Peaks
The streams begin to fade
Heat waves distort
The high chaparral
Hot rocks empty
Where lizards had laid
All seek shadows
From the blast of sun
The forge where
Skeletons are made
Save for winged raptors
Who climb thermal stairs
Looking down upon
Land scarred and flayed
In the distance
An adobe church
Its well dug deep
In the rock of their faith
They plant trees
©️🧿Donna Maurice poem/image 2020
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