#9
There is a brass bed
half buried in sand.
Its headboard is bent
by time and neglect.
But imagine the night
when two lovers conjoined
And decided in whispers,
walls must fall: here, now.
#10
Vermillion clouds
call turquoise home.
A little known river stirs
like a snake unseen – thirsty.
There is pain in beauty
because we are told it will end.
The mesas are burning,
as we are burning — in light.
– Terry Tempest Williams 2010
