South of Taos

hurry please
speak first in the heavens
of the heavenly deaths 
then the lesser blessed things
best left in the bright air
amazements
of angels

less aware
in his clouded contemplations
heavy unsettled skies threaten
remind of loneliness
laden doubts

what is left behind
fends for itself
survives nicely
without self
without it

in this place without bells
ringing voices chime
a hint of faint birds circle
the wordlessness of a fainter sky
here old whispers stir
guessing with him
in the scarcity of summer swallows
making all things as simple
as they are
impossible

JP Pestana October 8, 2016