Poem by Fred Becchetti

Home Again

It seeps into my being;
The soft layers of distant haze
That round off into silent mystery,
The silent, miles-away mountains.
The wrinkled, mottled mesa
Scarred, glistening white by gravelly creeks
Carving their private canyons
Before going underground
To form the hidden rivers
Forever hoping to reach the sea.
The wind glides down the foothills,
Stroking the blades of grass
Tough as the jagged points
On a horned toad’s back
And humming a tune
That a Navajo will work
Into a bracelet of turquoise and silver.
I am home again.

Fred Becchetti

July, 1986