We, like the coyote, think
we know the habits of this world:
death and taxes with certain diversions
that make predictable politics
like foreplay for Wall Street
eager to screw the future
into submission. Coyotes
make their living on the details
overlooked and discarded,
keeping to the periphery
and singing into darkness
while everyone’s asleep.
Now soft in places, red clay slick
feeding cows in the brown
bare flats beneath naked hills
loose piles of last year’s alfalfa,
each dry flake spaced to fall
into small green haystacks
where cows camp in an undulating
line within a cloudy chill
until this promise of grass
changes the color of everything
we have known for too long.
Looking down, plodding still,
eyes occupied with searching for
the first cotyledons to break free
from the crust, glad hands open
to the elements believing in more
good rains. Vote for those who know
growth without water won’t work.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged cows, Drought, Dry Creek, photographs, poetry, politics, rain, water, weather
tears of joy
no USACE dam can
constrict, nor EIR
predict as if
acronyms save breath
and litigation.
The heavens in my mind
will open up
to consume me
like a leaf rising
upon wild waters come
to cleanup the mess.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, photographs, poetry, politics, rain, water, weather, weekly-photo-challenge
