Gone Golden

Poncho strode alone
a silhouette
cast, by deep troubles
burning sun
Haunted by Noctuid
blackwitch
searching El Naranjal
golden thoughts atop desert sand
Apache gold
lay sleeping
seeping secrets
somewhere out there
out where Poncho brave brays
squinting the long brim distance
of sombrero vision
weaving devils threads
through the valley
he searches for orange groves
in a canyon
his minds eye tastes them
fruits of his labor
squishing juices over his chin
salivating
dazed in days he drinks her in
wandering sauntering scents of glint
An old eagle pointed the way
with claws to the path
meat in his beak
sensing the dream would serve him best
kept toe to Poncho
a few miles back
the perfect worm sent to a bottle
buttes jut to a meandering mesa
held intact by devils claw
broom and holly
three days
basking
without a drink
across his eyes scythe
robe and a globe
drift in
distant
held long as promised
as a vein throttles
he falls off his donkey
sucking in sands  
at the mouth of an entrance
where orange groves glow
flowing streams dance with shade
sounds of breeze tucking him in
swirls and swishes as a shadow lingers
draping over him lovingly