Utah

by Garry Nordenstam
 
I was in Utah when you knocked.
Wandering through the desert,
through guardians of the past,
their cold stone faces etched by time,
their secrets cast in shadows by the sun.
Whispered words
hung in the breeze brushing
through my hair,
like the gentle hands of my lover
long since gone.
Yes, I was in Utah when you knocked.
Three sharp raps brought me back.

 2003 by Garry Nordenstam. All rights reserved.
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