Old Griz

This time the old bear set off straight to the top.
Every year before,
it was a crooked trail.

Deep snow slowed us both,
and fog blurred the day;

my eyes
and my spirit.

Until,
emerging above the mist
the trail was clear

and beside a deadfall,
there were the eyes:

fixed upon the backtrail
and upon my own;
vacant,
seeing well beyond
a remnant dream
and my shadow in the evening sun.

I reached for a cold foot
in a shivering embrace,
cold, now, in a slight breath
stirring stunted needles
on ancient brush

and

kneeled.

waiting for eternity.

Riding Kate

she swapped ends
180 degrees to the right
before she felt the reins

mule deer in the brush!

one ear forward, one ear back,
like me

then on to the
turning point:

calmer

hoping against hope
that there really is

a soul keeper

Pausing by the cedar stump

tracks came to here:

stopped.

looking back,
it was a crooked path
and snow is melting them,
distortions along the way.

the burned out cedar stump,
hollow now in age,
ancient even then,

sheltered much
in the days
and nights
spent in its safe womb,

(a child's innocent retreat)

but, revisiting,
the old entrance is too small
to allow passage now.

what follows this failing trail?

ahead is westering sun.

if I wait too long
the trail will be as dim
as future's twilight:

present and past,
in diminished sight,
melt poorly
into the arrival of the night.

Greta

She was crazy wild,

running
even on hind feet
faster than me,
always testing the wind.

She was crazy wild,

laying
on the passenger seat
in the old truck
on the arm of this old man
sly kisses on my ear

She was crazy wild,

just wanted to be near
but ran...

running,

to the end of her chains
to the end of her innate

boundaries

circles

and back ,

back to check her center...
diameters,
as if at the length of invisible restraint,

She was crazy wild,

love incarnate
loyally blind

ignorant of
affirming any consequent,

brief love
in the scheme of things

she was,

friend.

Borogoves and Momeraiths

"all mimsy were the borogoves and the momeraiths outgrabe"


the beautiful Tennessee Waltz
was darling its way
o're the cherry groves

when along came Bob
running

and stole my life
into 'Nam and other places

and the flag was downside up
and all could hear
seagulls cry
over oily oysters

revolution

so that pearls ashore
when we get there
would be white

and saints could
march blackly in
(darkly speaking)

it's ok
it's alright

all right

so,

when borogoves get all mimsy
why would we care?
we wouldn't dare
the momeraiths
would outgrabe
taking us away

anyway,

any way,

the redbird's off her nest
and her eggs arot
won't give a damn alot

(we'll waltz away home)

Choice

man from the mountain
demounts

broken commandments

defiance,
rage against chains,

seeking not freedom
but liberty

(even the eagle's wings
are subject to the laws of flight)

soar after freedom!

(are the angel's wings
subject to the laws of flight?)

choosing falling,
why do we want wings
to soften the landing?

Journey

helmet laying near a stump:

two signs of harvest.

they say that Ulyses himself
may have passed here
a cavalry crush
in the civil conflict

the crush of my feet
and the disturbance of my breath,

the sound of my words

all passed

the helmet,
the stump,

and...