Apache Moon

As I spread out my bedroll
atop the high mesa,
the aroma of pine and pinon
surround the air
and sear the rabbit
roasting over the open flame.

As I settle into the bedroll,
and looking skyward, I
am greeted by the infinity
of glittering stars,
and the rising Apache Moon.

As the legend goes,
if you make a true wish,
one, only your heart of heart knows,
then you will find your true love.
The love of wanting to walk the same path;
sharing the full,
as well as empty spaces;
wanting to do all the little things
that make them happy.

This night,
under this Apache Moon,
I made such a wish.
But, with moccasins worn,
jeans faded,
is it too late for such wishes?

Down below,
in mesa’s shadow,
I hear Kokopelli’s mocking flute.