“Have you heard the trumpets?” he asks.
He has. Once in Wyoming, and
once in Israel.
The pilgrims in the hot springs
nod in recognition and
soak their blisters.
I am a tourist in the waters.
It takes me longer to understand what
he is talking about –
The voices of angels.
I didn’t make the long journey to
touch the healing soil of
Santuario de Chimayo.
But, yes I have heard the trumpets.
To me, they sound like the calls
of migrating swans.
Pebble Tossed 
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