-This is from a road trip in ’95.
Walking low streets, I breathe mountains
Frosty morning air steals into my lungs like perfect smoke
Later desert warmth will rule the day, and storms…
Skies blaze with fiery clouds
Balloons navigate the misty currents
My feet walk conquistador paths and missionary trails
Turned streets that lead past adobe homes and pueblo bungalows
To breakfast in a warm and welcoming diner:
Bagel and cream cheese with fresh green chiles
©1995
Your poem makes me hungry at the end