That I never got to live in–

The adobe walls and adobe plaster dust,

The sun room and warm floors,

The studio with glass doors,

The mountain view outside the kitchen,

The sage brush and winter mud,

The magpies that lived in the junipers,

The magical New Mexican sky.

I can almost remember…

A house we built and gave away,

And how I cried away lost latilla dreams

While the Universe told me this was not our place.

-K

I see mountains

And a desert scape

So real

It might be where

I am supposed to be.

In this view

I am happy,

Living a life

Not quite expected,

But turning the twists

Into joy.

-K

Paper dolls blowing in the wind,

Haunt me now.

Holding little paper hands,

Blowing away,

Like so many Autumn leaves.

-K

That art

Continues

But I do not.

I am ashamed of my status,

Unequal to everyone.

And the world

Keeps on spinning.

When will I create again?

Do I have anything to say?

The world passes me by.

I am on a dead end

To certain dismal failure

Where my solitude

Suffocates me

And my muse

Wrings her hands

In shame,

In pain,

Waiting for me

To wake up

And participate.

-K