To Rawhide

I’m watching old westerns
Picturesque drive into Lyons
Eastwood cliffs, giddy upp’ed
In hat and all that bought down
Town in Estes Park, ed the car


In Cabin’s Fever

Night owl howling
I’ll clamp my claws
To bark till spring
Pretending, three
A.M. and what if
Initials are carved
Starved for green
Anything that’s blue
Clinging to distant
Ember’s threw up
Like a voice, and
Choices of sleeping


Given in stockings stuffed
With enough clove struck
An abundance of nothing
Bringing everything home
Plucked of some imaginary
Division in sparkling blue
Red wires fired upped before
Our presents can unwrap
Years tears weren’t numbed
Enough of not looking each
In the eyes, blinking lighting
Hidden cries over table’s
Shoved aside, I guess this it’s
Time, I’m hurt as hooks in
And fire, cheeses, these cakes
Placed round pecan tables


Only he’s privy to the plan
And taken that path where
Left leads to roofless right
In sight of God
On top trail’s scree believed
In cleats clinging onto hope
And utter confidence that’s
Never left once
Of us under thunder or blue
Secured and sealed to be
Free, and maybe climbing
Into arms infinity

The Cedar Chest

Rested on checkered flannel
Mantle singed in memorization
Of lingering dream exhalations
Laying shadow’s remembering
Rings around the pine scented
Mornings gathering hands and
The last quotations as clasping
Gathered poetics placed against

In Words

Like oak meets tempered glass
Salt rubbed into dutiful cracks
Past foreseen dreaming sighs
Whys identified in opened eyes
Lies, laid turned the other way
Or face to faced mantle place
Pink to red that’s never learned
The scarred language of a burn