Rodentia Mortis ( ©December 2011)
Trail dead center stopped.
By what fateful act
Of god or foe
no tongue can tell.
Perhaps simply the unraveling
of life’s weave.
Fragile crush of body
like some @ mark cold-cocked
for being bastard child to true grammar,
Coarse hair scorch-black-orange
of crème-brulee
driven by hot blood’s pulse
after scent and flicker
of this living
here~
end of the line.
We too arrived here pause
To wonder at your freeze frame
Punctuation against hard-pack
California earth.
And in case essence
That should not linger does
We press lightly against
Shut eyes
coins of our words
to speed your way:
“You, my friend, were an excellent digger”
These few tokens offered,
indulgence bought against dying alone,
secret hope in heart’s deep chambers
of similar benediction, usher
to our passing
when that day comes.
We turn, thus, and lift eyes
To broad western pine
Standing its vigil the next ridge,
To brooding face of December sky
Familiar and inscrutable,
To all possible destinations
before us still.
Goat Rock-a-by-Baby ( November 2011)