Be There No End to the End of This Day
by lois roma-deeley

Just as the arrow weed, stripped
of all intention, asks the single leaf
to curl inside itself just as
the desert sun draws a shadow line
across the unsuspecting ground
dividing sadness from sorrow
just as the wild horses bend their heads
to drink from the cool river of doubt
while the Mesquite trees shimmer gold,
their leaves trembling in welcome
just as the wind moves through
and around and within this day
just as spirals of honey bees hum,
the thrum and lightning strikes you.