Artfully Done
She left me
halfway to Boulder
Up and out of the Honda
to a boredom-free land
When we got to the show
I asked, “Where did you go?”
A face stared me down
it didn’t belong to my date
Her other lover was visiting,
could I not see?
Art was his name
color and light, his tertiary game
I was downright dowdy
compared to Art
Six Moons
Marking time by the moon
magically, we’ve moved
toward a life together.
“So soon?” some may say
from their church pews
and corner-office views.
But, what are six moons
passing in the night
when souls come home to light?
When old ways are honored
and sense is made,
there’s no room for a downgrade.
Is six moons so soon
when worlds can end
in one of mans’ madder moments?
Under six moons
we have shared sorrow
and voiced pain.
Under six moons
we have danced our dreams
and held one another tight.
From here we go on
waxing and waning
illuminating the paths we choose.
Hand-in-hand
heart-to-heart
it’s hard to conceive of a better start.
Wyoming Domestic
She was born a ranch gal
and a ranch gal she remains
through it all–
the city’s foul air,
work’s political posturing,
no horse to ride.
All she needs is a fresh whiff
of Big Horn oxygen and her cells come alive,
defiantly so,
her whole being rallying
for the life left behind–
the summers mending fence,
graceful solitude,
and the occasional comfort of bluegrass.
Coming down off the high
packing herself into a red Saturn
bound for Denver
she wonders how,
how is it possible to explain this rarified existence
to the unknowing–
to the East Coasters?
the cold cats?
her man?
She sees herself as a foreigner
adrift in a strange land
void of values,
especially old ones
like, “We are all connected,”
but she’s not apart–
the pieces fit,
rough edges are smoothed,
cycles continue to spin.
Even when home pride spills over
and burns the unsuspecting,
the non-callused,
the wanderer who’s never know a root,
nor the fierce bond–
of woman to clan,
of woman to place,
of woman to an identity forged.
Hiking St. Mary’s
I’m in love with a mountain
lion
impervious
to gravity’s crueler
commands
She springs from modern
transport
intent
on a ballet of her own
making
Trodden paths skirted
so too
the methodical steps of man
This wildness startles
I can only imagine
that my arms
will hold her again
when my legs
find a rhythm
Accenting the Feminine
Everywhere you look in the desert
there’s a rich flesh
inviting
More sensual than sirens’ song
the mother’s labia opens
to all
And to withdraw
is certain separation
and a desperate loneliness
For in the pinks, oranges, and reds
is a safe harbor
from the games of man
Bears Don’t Break
Bears don’t break
Down and ride like horses
You can’t corral them
A circus animal is the most you can hope for
And that’s not a bear
That’s a bear impersonating
Bears will do that–
Before they tear into shit
Leaving their cage in ruins
And their tamers cowering
Stray Drops
Carelessly
do words form, fumble, and fall…
So too
a meandering stream turns
suddenly
to a gravity of rage,
pounding
perfectly natural rhythms
on innocent skins.
Eroded
rocks go on.
But what about
those of finer density?
Do they welcome new light?
And again stretch every fiber toward the sky?
Dilute Slowly
The sky cries tears
when I’m fresh out.
I pray the stains will wash.
My anger too
can forever go
to the deeper recesses of blue.