Archive | July 2014


Slow feet, fast hands
make the single,
St. Valentine’s cowgirl boots.

The fever takes me and I
wait for coyote haunt
and owl time.

The great shift back to one.

I cannot unsay.

But we learn it —
what restraint has to teach.
Let gods or angels take it up.

We are low,
but we aim for consistency —
draw it inward —

and the elusive summer
still sings in the night.
In the night, it still sings.



The blessing moon —
you count them now,
one hand or two.
It’s grown its face,
but hides in storm —
and I know how it feels.
I know how it feels.
I know how it feels.