Systems and Signs


At twilight
approach a pinion juniper
dominion,

down wind

a lift of the reins
says

be quiet…no talking
to your chestnut accomplice.

There
in a late summer
palomino hollow
watch a blood roan stud
stalk through his charges,
intimidating adolescents,
reassuring mothers,
(who ignore him completely,)
asserting his authority
while gaily colored colts
leap
squealing and bucking,
exhibiting their ignorance.

Beneath an iridescent sunset
they flow

together

apart

through dapple tones of
tobiano sorrel, soft bay, flick of
flaxen flash of strip, snip, and stocking
as he comes walking
protector
of all he surveys
through the grullo dusk,

just as a coyote cries
to long desert shadows

and chirping chicadas.

The old mare
takes charge,
knickers and scolds her foal to her flank,
nips her sister,
and leads the way

to water.

He circles and worries behind them.

Watching
you think

of systems…and signs,

think of your warrior sons,
your daughters…grown,
and going now so far
from your protective eyes,

consider the transitions of peace,
and the subtleties of power,

watch the dark swell out of the grass,
night rise to meet an appaloosa blanket
of sky
shoving aside the last voluptuous
purple sighs of a dying

light.

Do not allow the fading, strident harangue
of a blood roan stud
follow you now.

Slough your concern,
settle and turn

to your own circle

Home.