Cantina Dream
Emerging from the shadows of the mission’s broken wall,
The moon falls on her shoulders like a ghostly silken shawl.
She wears a chain of silver and abalone shells.
Her eyes as bright as emeralds, her voice, like Spanish bells.
She wanders past the courtyard, the potter’s earthen jars,
The lights of the cantina, the lullaby guitars,
To step beyond the threshold of conservative affairs,
And let her dark desires be the focus of her prayers.
She conjures desperados burning ranchos built of straw.
Her reckless indiscretions led to brushes with the law.
She’s broken her piñata and found herself beguiled.
Her heart was always restless, but now she’s running wild.
She glides among the canyons like a ghostly vagabond,
Her freedom the expression of the innocence she’s pawned.
She wraps herself like water around the un-carved stone.
It’s easy to imagine, but hard to let alone.
I look for her in turquoise that mirrors desert skies,
The wind that sweeps the mesa, my lover’s sleepy eyes,
The haunted midnight pueblo, the cool adobe dawn;
Though mountains rise between us whichever side I’m on.
Copyright © Michael Kalavik | Year Posted 2021
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