Low Down in the High Desert
 
Geese ruckus
Down on the river
Grief moon one night past full
Hangs on bare limbs
Night smells of sage
Night of blue stars and
Restless headlights of
A pick-up on Main Street
Gravel under tires
Grinding, hissing into silence
Broken radios
Quail sleeping under the stables
Disheveled sky of dying winter
I step outside
Unsure of my footing and
Ready to fall
The cold wind never saying “Stop”
Just asking
“Is this really
The path you want to follow?”