he is at home in the wild
wandering under transient skies
on bedrock crafted and scattered
by the almighty power of time

over frozen-ash clay in volcanic hues
and purple-white cushions of phlox
he is escorted by pale raven shadows
steered, like himself, by the wind

a meadowlark congress adjourns
their trills drift on the strong scent of sage
through lonely susurrant-pine whispers
the breeze sings the ballad of spring

on he roams through this gusty plain
immersed in his mother's deep beauty
toward the wedding of mountain and sky
as the day gracefully greets the night