Caring too hard about the welfare of the red earth
under my fingernails, and in the bowels of insects
I garden. I set my fangs in travel and am not a nomad.
over further hills a new soil, a new crop
I watch as the horses go up and come back
some with the same rider
some with a different rider
some with letters and treasure and no one to guide them
but the stars are hard brilliant free market gems.
I go out only when its dark to watch the campfires in the valley
where dogs howl and tomcats claw and clutch and babies cry
and newspapers clog the gutters under the incessant downward rain.
I couldn’t leave the two beautiful
bodies, quiet, loved/ and a gentle library of night times
leaves half-moon imprints on my heart
says you’re not going anywhere
shuts off stars one by one, spits the pips
but when I sit, and suddenly I’m everywhere and
sunlight and plenty at once I know how
to walk a slow road. Drums, gods,
poems have always laid down arms
and watched the dust of long rides rise.