Small world here, an eddy
in the cutbank of a raging stream
like Roaring River
before it dumps into the Kings—
Río de los Santos Reyes,
or like Cloud Canyon
our honeymoon camped
upon soft needles
in the moving shadow
of a huge Sugar Pine—
Cement Table
apart from the foaming current
and thunderous cascades
of man’s designs.
Small world here making circles,
gathering cattle to brand
around the weather,
putting crews of neighbors
and meals together
for a picnic:
bring your horse
for a slow dance
of wide loops,
tight ropes
and camaraderie—
we are family
chasing seasons
for a lifetime.
Small world here in the darkness
of a moonless morning, stars
like glinting diamonds set
in black velvet, a universe
unfolding beyond reason.
drycrikjournal 