Sun setting over
Swamp causes deep orange emotions
On the brim of thought.

Use to not be more than a memory
Some green grass in the far field; use
to remember when the corn fell; Gods
Were more than just a belt strap. Stood
In the sunrise smiling. Before all the
Katsinas and ketchup. Use to feel that
Soft days were no less than a slow
Slap.

I imagine the wind
Being taken out from the
Sails. Or that moment
Before you fall from
Your horse. If gravity
Were to flip itself.
An empty soda can
In the far woods
.
I imagine
A piano by the surf
Playing an endless song.
A simpler bird.
Beethoven and the rain
Or. The worse possible pain.
What it finally took to love
And understand.

Down by the ruffled river in the
Heart of the skeletal canyon
The cold stones begin to wake
As Hercules aims his arrow at the
Half-moon, misses wide, come those
Thirsty shadows with stretched necks
Dip their dry dusty lips into the
Silty water, ahhhh! Emerge the
People of clay, crude and
Broken apart like a mirror that has
Been dropped, shattered reflections
Of the earth, born, learning first how
To climb, and then how to walk.

Down by the river’s
Cold half-moon dance
Creep the thirsty
Shadows of canyon
For a quick sip,
                           Of time
Beneath all those stars
Of January.

These days they are the crimpled up
Wings of moth nights, warm moon
Flowers of valley, mesa and mountains
Through layers and layers of soil no
Wonder they are attracted to
That eternal flame of desire, trembling
So far away.

Down the hill along the cow path
We stumbled like fawn shaking off
The heavy fog of sleep the gray
October day unfolding its onerous
Wings through the gate which we
Were always so careful to close behind
Us past the silver slender ash trees
Between that old stone house and rotting
Garden toward the barn where the swallows
Lived up the ladder to the hay where we
Could swing all day if it wasn’t for
Those dreaded chores which came
So natural to you, in the silo
With those pitchforks trying not to
Slip down into that spiraling lascivious
Mouth of metal (death), where outside the
Silver bearded god watched as
We staggered out like mice from an
Old and rusted tractor into the
Soft polished air of first snow, laughing.