Pancho Villa raided my dreams as
I feigned sleep that night naked
in the dry Sonoran Desert south
of the sacred Sedona vortex.

How many days I wandered lost
forgetting the rotting wooden ship from
that distant dead star we
sailed from a light year ago.

Now I spend blue sky days done
from writing songs of youth when
time stood still & quiet for
a life not yet begun or fulfilled.

Do not wait to write your music or
your poetry or sing your songs or
run your races or to dance and love . . . 
immortality is a seductive mistress.