Driving north from Kremmling on a March afternoon
riding through eroded snow fields
clumps of gray sage, dreary rabbit brush
dreaming of spring
I fly by a team of crows
facing each other across a ribcage
somber surgeons performing their slow
meticulous work
Ahead on the right
a herd of antelope springs to life
formed out of old snow and brown dirt
Illuminated by a rare light
The air sparkles
My heart skips
fluttering between death
and life
lsc/2009
2 comments:
wow. beautiful. so descriptive i could see it in my minds eye. you have such a command of language. thank you.
Yes. Perfect, gives me the vision and the emotion, and your own essential awareness. Thank you. Keep it up.
Poetry is essentially a distillation of thought through the crucible of self. Your self is a poet.
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