as if coin by coin
into the land
the fire of the sun descending.
The only way I can see to grow is to
throw my roots down deep into the loam
align my fate with the fate of the deer
and sage hen.
I hope I leave my own trail of treasures
a tuft of fur on barbed wire
a lost flight feather gripped by the bitterbrush
the glow of my eyes in a pair of headlights.
I left pavement years ago
preferring the meandering hare trails
the prowling habits the coyotes press (step by step) into the river bank in the early evening light
the wide open arms of this hard territory.
My song turns orchestral, a blend of
bug wings humming
shedding snake skin
sleet on spring creek
and the rock off the point at echo canyon that giggles like a baby in the river current.
I feel the basalt bite at my boot soles
I squint against the light of the bunch grass glowing
we head further in
carried like seeds
on a wind of change.