GRAILVILLE

the predawn sky is indigo
the eastern horizon a slash of deep persimmon
it is New Year
snow crunches as I walk inside the tractor tracks

I am on my way out to the barn
a dog has walked this way, I follow
his meandering paw prints.
I hear him barking in the distance,
perhaps he can hear me
walking his path through his furrowed fields
but his people won't let him out.

the sky is now fading to pastel

I stop at the barnyard to greet the black cattle;
their winter coats are thick, shiney with frost
as they crunch corncobs
the steam from their black, wet nostrils
dances in the air and dissappears

I now believe such breath
could keep a mangered baby warm

a bullock approaches me, our eyes lock
but when I move he prances backward

I now believe the body of a bull
does contain the power of the universe

now the western sky is crimson
reflecting an eastern sun not yet visable

the dog has been here too
his prints create a frozen dance of joy

I am now at a small pond
glazed with a sheer skin of ice
a dry wind whirls the steam rising from the pond
cat tails and thistles house a clan of cardinals
drops of scarlet sing from thistle branches

I follow the dog's path around the pond,
missing the puddles hidden beneath snow.
he is barking still
he'd rather be with me than where he is

back at the barnyard, the sun pops up
silhouetting black branches in the eastern field

the black beasts watch me
the cardinals call from the pond
my friend, the dog, waits

BEAR FANTASY AT YELLOWSTONE

it is thaw time
I am loopy, lightheaded
crawling out of my dark den
to roll in the scratchy bear grass
under blue sky and racing clouds

I smell water...and more
wind carries sweet fish smells

thirst and hunger
dance together within me

I will go where the silver fish swim
catch them in my sharp black claws
snap them in my bear jaws
and swallow, scales, bones, eggs and all

then, belly full
I will flop down on a warm rock
splashed by cold river water
until hungry again

GLACIER MOUNTAINS TALK

my valleys hold
oceans of air
for my winged ones to swim

my stone cliffs are for
laughing wind waves
to crash and splash upon

my caves are dark places
where worn out wind children nap
before going out to play

trees are my turrets
( windy wind whistlers )
listen to my music

A BRYCE CANYON MORNING

early, before the tourists,
we stopped at the red rock entrance

all ours, for a moment

a flash of darkness
whooshed in front of our car

a golden eagle, wide as the car
flapped down on the other side of the road
seized a brown rabbit

lifted up, rabbit and all, in front of us again

and was gone

what a way to start a day!

(except for the rabbit )

ON THE WAY TO THE ZUNI RESERVATION

(three haikus)

hot silence brooding
red mesas, blue cloudless skies
waiting just waiting

gray clouds thundering
rain slapping parched stone and sand
loosening, receiving

sunflowers spring up
soon heavy with sweet brown seeds
bending to red earth