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.