Better The Air


pure darkness

all stars

winds raking sage into piles of shattered silver

roots crying out to deep

oh the black and bones of these mountains


coyotes weep at the moon

clinging to the hillsides with tongues and claws


straight as arrows

yipping the planet into spin


i am in the high country

my forehead pressed against the dome of the sky

sipping at the milky way with thirsty lips

grinding stars between

my teeth


i cannot feel my hands

this cold air is too bitter

better the air than my young heart