"Night Along the Trail."
As most Western poets, I've spent
a lot of time outdoors, packing, hiking, so forth.
So I have written quite a number of poems
which spring out of those experiences in one
way or another.
This is perhaps one little lyric of that order.
"Night Along the Trail."
Hypocritic dusk.
Your face concealed in a cloud of leaves.
Your eyes a peacock tail.
Your soft voice a conch shell echoing tides.
And in your dark veins, the deer lured to terrible altars.
I sit by the trail and weave a wreath of wild lilac
and salal to keep me safe from cougar, snake,
and those black pools where sheep of hammered silver sink,
and that white rider on his gold horse kneels to drink.