Here they come

In the morning, sleepy-eyed,

Naked to cool desert breezes,

Fragrant from their sleeping bags

As the surrounding creosote flowers,

Fresh as the tiny stream

That trickles through the sands,

Young as sparks from last night's fires

Crackling with their laughter

They talk girl talk

And get serious to tears at times

They are the women gathered in the morning

Holding hands with sacred promise

Deeply in each other's eyes

Searching with all purity

Love is trembling in their breasts...

Circling they dance

Singing mother songs

Soft yet strong.

This

Will never leave them...