with spirits today–
some may say
I saw echoes of O’Keefe
in the New Mexican red, purple hills.
I climbed Chimney Rock with Russell,
a lost artist I hope to find in me
who will perhaps speak through me one day.
Another ghost strode ahead of us,
Resolute, Resplendent in intellect and art.
I rushed forward to reach him
as he spread himself thin
among the snowy clouds.
Georgia offered a rare smile,
one so often trapped in her wealth of wrinkles,
and took my hand.