Chicago Spring

Before returning to Santa Fe

1 walk on the streets

Before nightfall-

The lake clear and still

Between young leaves.

My body is gentle

As the light on the pavement.

My fingers play on the air

Like evening wind running in leaves.

But there is no one-

Only return,

Only old roads of last summer,

An old fence like dead leaves.

The hand of God

Is heavier than mountains.

It stands on the air

Like an odor.