a breeze can be so soft
almost still fluctuations and sensations
around the face
and only ashes flown from the fire
might take notice

we stare down Little Indian
everything is brown
wheat brown
copper brown
gray brown
except the sage
dotted throughout

we are descending in the thin air
stones shift slightly under our weight
brown stones laid down
and pushed up

early winter sun outlines
the blue-black gleam of our weapons
and the sky could lift us out of this world

we feel it
we know this feeling

in the distance
along the valley floor
delta shaped and silent
a shadow hugs the ground
moving swiftly
like a razor’s sharp line toward us

we gesture

before we can speak
the jet hurtles over us
screaming the low metal scream of machines
and rolling belly-up
disappears beyond the rim
dropping below the horizon
to the eastern desert plateau

we still gesture

a phantom
we all know it
we are men
after all

then again
in the soft breeze

– December 1999/November 2007

2 thoughts on “>ashes

  1. >I just finished reading a biography of Anne Sexton…it takes time and effort to get published…hope you are trying because this is good stuff…at least in my inexpert opinion.

  2. >megan, thanks. I’m glad you like it. I have thought of seeking publication. Years ago I self-published a small volume of poems, but I haven’t done anything since. Maybe someday I will submit some poems to some magazine or journal. For now this blog is my only publication.

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