Sundown Meadow

No man built this church
These dark groves of old aspen
keep their secrets in shaded depths
The slanted sun showers the ridge with golden light
aspen leaves quake green and silver in the soundless breeze
A field in yellow flower
each stem illuminated in the setting sun
Myriad of tiny insects drift between the blooms

Elk emerge like brown spirit shapes
from the distant treeline
Above, snow-topped peaks subdued to silhouettes
as the sun's last brilliance is given to the meadow
Your hair, lips, breasts the color of the sun
and the sun's heat within you

Here the Piper might be heard behind the silence
summoning the stars
to emerge from groves of night
and hold court with the quarter moon
Here the evening is bourne gently
on long shadows

Two wheels brought the two of us here
up a twisted path
to speak of building a home in the meadow
only to know we shall never dwell within this
but that instead this hour
shall dwell within us