Clouds build on the northern ridge Where the shades of night grow pale And there comes a slow, smoky rain. The mountains loom and recede. And Below, the umber plain is a pitted hide. There the distance of time runs out, And the mind extends beyond itself. I have seen in the twist of wind The landscape severed and heard The brazen cries of streaming hawks. First light is a tapestry on canyon walls, And shadows are pools of illusion. I am a man of the ancient earth For I have known the desert
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