Our Lady of Sympatico

Infinite are life’s roads,
often past fields laid fallow by the sun.
The quietness of sparrow.
The softness of cottonwood.
How did we get here?

Avalanches are born in unsuspecting screams.
Gently nudging change
until gravity takes control.
Breathing is not living,
fighting not heroic.
We ignore whispers in wind
with the same peril
we disregard Coyote’s mischievous cries.

Wind swirling at our feet
is not ours,
yet it takes us captive.
Brightness and light belong to others,
yet they beckon.
The world has burdens
that cannot detour around
our carefully crafted confines.
This is why,
God listens to the lost in Spanish,
their suffering is muy sympatico.