Market gig

30-25

Sing for the tomatoes. Sing for the sun hiding around the corner. Sing for the smiling baby boy dancing with no shoes on. Sing for this morning, the only morning.

The light that reaches everywhere

Views of Zion.

After the night's rain

Click on images to view larger. Better that way.

Prima donna vera

30-24

Two days ago it was eighty degrees. Today it snowed.

Spring's coming in, wrapped in chintz and ribbons, weaving her
way, all hiccups and ruffles, green buds in her hair.

Canyon stories

There are stories this land writes in stone, patterns
of wind on rock, water on sand. There's calligraphy in
a coyote's lope down the draw, a vulture's wings
spread against relentless blue.

In the near blackness of midnight,
wind roars down canyon like a flash flood,
blurring everything, raining sand onto upturned
faces, making the stars invisible.

A tumbleweed appears like a silent animal,
suddenly looming out of the darkness of
the creek bed and, just as quickly, gone.

All night, sand continues to scour the tent,
until the air is stilled by the dawn
under the watchful eyes of the last stars.

A canyon wren's song, like drops
of water, falls note by note from the cliff face.

30-22

The color of these stones is inconstant as the sky.
While the day's shadows travel their surfaces, their hues shift
like a modulating chord. Dust, water, air, light: canyon suite.

Jackrabbit

30_21

I'm not fast as wind but I can blur. My
teeth are not sharp like coyote yips or midnight stars.
If I stop will you see me as a stone?

Salt

30-20

Breathless, squinting. The dry, crunchy, vastness glares like a snowfield.
Constant, vicious wind tries to push us over, throws salt
in our eyes, peppers our cheeks with miniscule stinging pellets.


Click on image for a larger view.