Last time, you came calling
as a glaze-eyed lady to the grassland,
dragging past its Doric columns
of cacti. Their wrens molting prayer.
You were the pre-cursor of shock
and shadows cast by places and strangers
you feared for us to know.
You wept at the launch of seasons
when dirt sifted through your fingers
and water flowed elsewhere, rain
pumped through a muscle of mud,
the eastern veins of river or stream.
This time, you come calling
as a wide-eyed girl through the wilderness
holding your hand open
to whatever wind or bird swoops in.
You could know everything
but have chosen nothing Your vocals unstrung -
left out of tune, hoping silence will invite
kinder possibilities to come.
Note -- Each year is unique and different for the individual that experiences all of its seasons and personal events. It may be defined, in retrospect, by newscasters and pundits on a national /global level ; but the real impact is how it affected the singular soul and person. So this poem personifies the year, "Annus" ,correlating how she entered the high desert last time (in January) with how she enters it this time. This poem's imagery was also partially inspired by Bob Dylan's Song, "Sad-eyed Lady Of The