The sierra is skin and seeds
It grows as you see it
Pink and curved like a wet flower
Bigger than life
Through the garden and the apricot trees
Water hose coiled like a grey snake
We walk in a group of five
Ingesting everything you shed
With Maria Chabot
The architect who became friend
The crumbling pueblo two centuries old
Was reborn
It began in letters between NYC and Abiquiu
Two women writing the future
That came up that towering orange hill
Glass, wood, heaps of earth
You lived here
For the rest of time
Under the glistening cobalt sky
With the chow chows
And the 1200 collected stones
Smooth little children
Playing in waterless ponds
Between the bleached animal bones
And the central plazuela
Which you painted over and over
Often adding details that weren’t there
But it looked how you wanted it to
Remember, it snows here
When asked to draw the winter road
You sketched the half curve of the moon
Its silvery tail guiding us
Five travellers at the Ghost Ranch
A Church
We feel you
The woman in the hills