Flight Of The Hawk

I hope to exhale my last breath of life
just as the sun drops low in the west,
painting the mountains in shades of burnt orange.
An eagle will circle tall pines on the crest
of sheer granite cliffs whose crevices hold
echoes of life from the past.

I will join the chants of warriors and chiefs
and ride swift ponies across a gray sky
as the last rays of sunlight surrender to night
and peace embraces the land with a sigh.
In a starlit canyon, I will lay my head
on soft meadow grass and I’ll know I’m home.

One day, when a hawk calls out in the dawn
and you pause at the sound, like recalling a dream,
I’ll rise on currents of warm desert winds
and touch the moon with the tips of my wings.
Then you’ll know by the flare of two streaking stars
that my love for you will never die.