By Thomas Lowe
Copyright © by P. R. Lowe,
July 20, 2015
(from Brother, Sister)

My heart sings
alike with the hot wind
across miles of rolling desolation
and the cry of a hawk
killing in the shattering brightness
of the morning
My hands will touch the mountains
from peak to peak
My eyes will see
all the forbidden canyons
the long rocky valleys
baking in the sun
The clouds are my ships
the sky is my sea
the sun is my father
the moon is my mother
and all the hills of earth
are my rightful home