Panhandle Song

Image courtesy of SueAnn friend of Brian Miller Hosting Poetics today

Now we’re aged sail ribs and tailbones,
our sucker rods dried, split with time.
Wind whistles us drained desert stones
spinning dizzy in retooled rhymes.

Yellow shadows once slipped through grass;
lying hidden, cicada waves
told tales of days when we’d surpass
cliff high flats and the deep sky’s blades.

Curved highways led to city streets.
Fast steps formed glass and metal tunes.
Rain skies erased the sun in sheets
then rusted heart-forged clever runes.

Unique melodies milled by wind,
Half-tones decay before our end.

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * 11/3/2012 * All Rights Reserved