THE CROWN OF CREATION
We bounce in the backs of pickup trucks
dirt road varnished by heat from the tires
skeletons snore in the earth as we trundle by
we relax, let our hair fly, shirt tails flap
someone gets a nosebleed
we put our hearts back into the soil
prairie dogs and rattlers bask
in the red glory of another day’s passing;
we have not been this alive for a while.
On the banks of the muddy Missouri
our caravan coasts into silence;
a prayer is delivered on the wind, it tells us
“Life is different here;
we let mouth and nose decide
what the ears shall see.”
In a land with no plan, with no Man
large enough to look beyond himself,
each of us knows what he must do.
We live slowly, breath to breath
inspect life, as we respect death --
reflect on small miracles
which bind us to kindness
reunite us inside the four worlds.
The Painting of Horses
Is he who erases that
which obscures beauty
the artist?
A broken window
a man
washes down the flank
of a salty appaloosa
each stroke across the flesh
wipes clean the easel
unveiling a masterpiece
in equine form.
