Red is the color of breath.
Splendid since colors named,
endless as time.
It symbolizes everything
about the past, present and future.
It follows extremes.
It sways in the moonlit breeze.
Flits like a feather toward the Rio—
graceful on the current.
Swaying with the evening stars and winter clouds.
Red covers cold air with warmth.
Passion.
Fire.
Love,
always love.
Red holds sacredness,
places it on heart
strings.
Guitar
plays
one,
quiet note at a time—
like Maria sings
to the children
in Sound of Music
high up where snow blankets mountain tops
like ocean whitecaps.
This is no rescue.
No mediation.
Sand is old.
It knows more stories than
our Sandia and Rio combined.
It mixes with blood of life
with Passion of Christ
from dust to dust.
Red is the color of breath.
It flits south hungrily now on the moonlight
like a rabbit baits coyote, as a red tail hawk hunts.
Winter is ending, an unremarkable taciturn,
an endless blackness—
waiting for spring to release winter
to release depressed thoughts—
anything the mind packed.
Now, Red, flits over the mesa
to the peak of the Sandia’s.
Calls out to black bear—
soft and gentle,
an unhurried request
to release spring.
In its journey finding ways to heal,
Red plunges into sun,
as red tail hawk dives for mouse.
Brilliance born
admiration, worship.
Gratitude as Sun
gives breath to morning sky.
There are no answers—
only forgiveness.
Faith.
Hope.
Love,
always love.
Red mediates in this blessed silence honoring
life as Earth wakes. Soon, Red blends
into all colors so others may revere.
©Gina Marselle, 2020
Saturday's Sirens 