Strata
1. Vernal Equinox
Snow flies, white-blind. Wild
spruce branch channels razor-
crystals around, through: A word
buried, un-covered, re-buried. I keep
forgetting. I keep -
No
footsteps found. My own
refugee is out there, arms spread, head
tilted west. Not a ghost, no ghost,
but dawn and spring rising
out of a snow-lashed dark.
2. Summer Solstice
Dust rises to meet
plaits
of grey rain. So few
drops. Cool
shade in the cracks. We cannot
reach her.
This heat. This day. Soon
she will be running
toward her dead mother. Open arms.
I wish her
open arms.
3. Autumnal Equinox
What is this death
we talk about: Webs
between exposed roots; tinny clank
of a dog chain; leaves
with their brilliant
fade.
Run your fingers
over this stone: Fish.
Fish ribs, fins. Frottage
of your birth.
4. Winter Solstice
Daybreak:
a clay bison in the blood. Swollen eye,
rust-bodied mice with wings. A few cars, clouds
flee east.
The Sun-Swallower smiles. Paths branch,
branch again, ochre-daubed. Cold
candle-shadows; red-graffiti
on the inside-thigh: "Who
will we be when the lights go out?" A plea, a prayer.
I believe in the long night, beast-curled
into you. I believe
in the long night. No arrow
can ever find it.
Santa Fe, New Mexico