The Last of Winter in Rattlesnake Canyon
Rock doves huddle
upon balanced rock,
bubble and knock
out liquid hymns,
a lullaby high above
the wicked canyon floor,
below the circled taunts
of raven cackle,
forgotten by the coyote,
his rotten bones pulled
from the Pollack Bench,
he lies frozen in time
with little meat
on his frame, until this,
his last winter wanes
and his paws begin to thaw.
The titmouse ducks
into twisted juniper
and taps its beak
around its twisted spine,
rhythms stretch
over quiet snows,
deep in the secrets
held by shadows,
muddied in the most
public of solitudes,
I weep for the change
and welcome it just the same.
First published in Colorado Journeys.
