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by Ed Bennett
The gnarled sun exits his stage
in this last act of the seasons,
truncated days too scant
for his glowering temperament.
This is Wind Woman's time
when she sweeps through canyons
in the dervish drive to scudded horizons.
The solstice stars blaze renewed
when she turns the sky-wheel of the night.
Wind Woman reaches for Orion's belt,
gleans the dust from the arroyos
as the hawk's mottled feather
feels her gelid touch.
These days are the gift of Wind Woman,
queen of the desert domain
where the Joshua trees reach skyward
and the night cropped cry of the coyote
is a midnight prayer of thanks.