Rest On Fawn Peak

If I fall asleep for the last time,

Let it be as the sun kisses the Mission Mountains

as orange replaces blue.

Let it be when jays roost,

does feed on clover silently near by.

Let it be when the bull bugles good night,

stars rush to the owls whim.

When darkness presses the lake flat,

a mirror for the sky to admire its beauty.

Being at peace I will finally die.

Let it be that this body,

my thin long feet to my solid shoulders,

is given to the land that brought me such joy.

Let me be when my ashes are spread,

ground into the dirt by hooves,

for it is then my wandering spirit will rest

on Fawn Peak with the charred logs.

But only after

the sun kisses the mountains,

as orange takes over where blue once was.

Do I choose to go.