| |
Pray, Montana
Fight river rage, ancient flow away
from geysers, bison, grizzlies, the whole park. I’m trying to heal a life, the bit
that’s left. Pray — post office, one cafe, ranchers lined on stools, gun-racked trucks growling out back. Skirt town, give wide berth,
cross myself, re-cross a freshet, wander
both sides. Rethink Brautigan, his demise. Ponder an eddy — murky swirl, circled churn sucked under to return. Greet sunset,
Absaroka peaks bled out red. Dissect dusk, failures, loss, lies, hope I survive
the coming night. It might absolve,
give shards of peace, even sleep. If there’s dawn, if only clouds hang on the horizon,
like a wolf gripped tight by trap’s teeth,
I’ll chew off the leg, limp upriver,
sort of free.
|
|
Mime at night on Crete
|
|
