pilgrimage

I went to the desert
like Jesus.
I returned to the wild
like a feral beast,
finally coming home.

Eyes wide and focused
like a great horned owl,
head on a swivel
seeing every sound.
Ears perked and pointed
like fleshy saucers,
listening:
ground squirrels
scratching beneath sand,
lizard feet scurrying
in the shadows,
and the voices of my kin
echoing off
hastening boulders.

My tears
water the tender cholla
as I lie prone
on the dune,
burying myself
in the din
of their welcome.

I am like cactus
patient and enduring,
waiting for rain.
I have grown thorns
to protect myself
from hostility.

Yet, when the deluge comes
I, too, burst
into song.

I went to the desert like Jesus
and returned with prophecy
and prayer.

I returned to my Wild,
gone feral like hyde
undone by moonlight.
This is my natural habitat.

Once again
I am home.

© S. Rinderle, May 2025