Anna Tynsky

soft treaded Indian trails
vanish between Spanish tongued towns

across the desert where red mesa rises
horizon meets hallowed ground

resting long
bones wait
to be found
rain and wind washed
whistle clean

away west she goes
plucky desert flower
sticking out of tough land-
This is me, she says,
where I plant
myself, where I stand

adobe home
spirit rocks
sand under foot
heavy wood table
loaded cans of brushes
a glass palette scrubbed clean
paint, red like blood and fire

black fierce
eyes
hat
night skies
to walk under for hours
making star talk

she paints it big
to free the spirit of things
with the bold colors
of one cast out
and using her own wings