Monday, July 18, 2011

"New Mexican"

Rio Grande River.
(c) SF Reporter.

Around doorways I hear a blue wolf howling

crying for poetry hanging from
drying with chilies
down to a mere essence
of thought.
Golden coins
adorn sleeping Cottonwood
Breathing steams
coffee like
in mornings
Ice covers pebbles
in drying stream bed.
Crescent moons muddy
denote horse herd passage
Masa frying
in pork fat
calling to a Tio's Autumn's
dinner repast.
Under a
hunter's moon
I hear the wolf
Scratching around my door posts
hungry for more.


-DS Baker

No comments:

Post a Comment