First Grandmother

Olden night the small place between branches I know you there grasses needles cones wait and the stone will become a pillow

Old Neighborhood

All rock all surface boil bring to a reach a verdict

Next Time

I will wear less and drink water out past Youngsville and how can it be unfinished business roaming the groves looking for shade the same old story wants to tell itself What else is there to see under the gem-like rocks where I've never belonged made myself belong The land rejects even the clouds hesitate they skip over bursting with all their waiting the time takes nothing not already been there done that the look a face I forgot then remember I thought about for years I didn't see a graveyard is it at Abiquiu not where his bones would be but does the answer lives there walking at night Could I ask a question this or that the next day unfolding and then the next

His Shirts

Do not fit around the collar that's how fingers pulling practicality

Went There Once Twice

Never saw a blonde hair called them and then yeah so I get to isn't that marvelous How's that working for you I have never done this until 9 a.m. almost over

Mystery Of The Laze Plume

It wouldn't stop the abundant you could now walk on top of the old neighborhood instead of just through tall jackfruit cherry guava and she oaks making all that noise when it was six or just past

Moon Stay

The ravine was smaller than houses smoother most empty brush living inside friends occupying along with the others left behind now their dreams situated beside highway scorching daylight I didn't stay with the moon so what will it be now I'm one of them outsider stopping and looking to run when it looks clear when space

Taught

I taught myself to laugh playing hookey for reals when I was supposed to be learning about right and wrong and what to do about it because running means running straight into arms crossed in defense of all that I was just being

What They Were

Over in the brambles mesquite cottonwood peaches smooth corners same thing finding kivas we should know where to follow trail belief half gone before I do so what unfolds under strange shade that isn't I was there long ago herding sheep dreams what they were so far away

What I Would Say To Pacomio

Your little town artistic houses jumbled around the creek where was the plaza highway 96 riding storybook terrain plateau against the Jemez Did you sing when you went away did doors close shut behind their closing You couldn't come back didn't you wonder what they did without

Well Now

This was plaza this was structure were trees with grass was not empty was not silent rocks dirt sand piñon circles This was the known symmetry on the unknown highway everything changes at dusk hands hold onto smooth Surfaces looking back each object a word person no one talking of home

Hard To Swallow

They turned their forests into everything else back then and now fields wash clean rumbling stomachs