June 27, 2009

Thea Gavin

COTTONWOOD BLUES
          Somewhere along Highway 395

In the pasture over west—
when cottonwood shimmer fills the air
the lizard in me wants to rest
up on a silvered fence rail; there,
twitchless between red dirt and sky,
I’d blend into the wind-carved wood,
let the dark birds circle, try
not to blink until the hood
of stretching shadow catches me
open-mouthed in the hay-green breeze—
looming blue mountain gravity
draws down the sun, darkens the leaves.

from Rattle #30, Winter 2008
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