Small Candles Haiku

Candlelight dances
with early November snow,
home full of sweetness.

Books and blankets grace
soft pillows, always enough
room for each of us.

The nights grow ever
longer, and still the last thing
I hear is laughter.

Earth wheels her mighty
axis, powered in part by
these small gratitudes.

Desert Riders

Dinosaur footprints
that we do not see,
this earth was made

to be rambled on.
Poetry writes itself
between black tires

and the road
as Navaho sandstone
and cryptobiotic cities

contend for galactic vistas
beneath blues so wide
they swallow the sky.

The great red plains
of a Mars moon blaze
like the setting sun,

like the riders
who make their way home
over long

desert shadows,
bodies full of exhaustion
and the sweet

freedom to say yes
and yes
and yes, riding

like an exclamation mark
for the pure joy
of living.