Mind gone blank: Zen empty
across the creek gone dry,
shadows stretching over long blond feed,

first-calf heifers coming out from under
shade to water for an evening’s graze.
It’s all the mind I need.

The news rains off my shoulders.
Even the eclipse didn’t faze me,
but for the fuzziness in my gut.

For a moment, it worried me—
so disconnected to the periphery
I had no need for poetry—

no need for anything but to breathe,
to inhale and cleanse the flesh
as it melts into the gloaming.


3 responses to “HOME ON THE RANGE

  1. I particularly like this poem, John, because I’ve thought many of the same things over the past few weeks of bleak news, but been unable to express it in poetry. Thanks!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I love the word gloaming. It works perfectly in this poem.

    Liked by 1 person

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