Among hills Apache red
Where damas and vaqueros
Built up a homestead
Past the mercados
And hills with a vague past
Running aside the mission -
Its white walls chaste
In the glow of the noontime sun -
Past a dreamy mountain range
And several places where in brief
There was a Butterfield stage
Runs a highway through my life
And whether bathed by the sun
Or a cloud of headlight glare
It ceases neither to function
Nor to remain my anchor.
