Bison bones along Yellowstone River
mark winter's passing
Passing through late in March, I find
the act of pitching my tent
to be an infallible rainmaker. -- ms

Below the black cloud, raven
weeping, above the red steam
of the geyser, breathing
and beyond the cold ridge, fire
raging from a Camel cigarette. -- tlk

Like a camel, I kneel to rid
myself of the day's weight.
Zippered inside my tent, I weather
the night, pass through lantern
light to sunrise stretching the night apart. -- ms

stretched paper thin, the bungee
jumper dies to the canyon, yet
rebounds, reborn a pendulum. keeps
time with the weight of the sky,
jus' passin through trick arrow. -- tlk

Like an arrow, my mind zooms
back to those bison bones,
sees my flesh and blood surround them,
lift them like the raven pulls the steam
through the marrow of spring. -- ms

harvest moon bleeds
through my open hand, swollen eye
half closed, I watch out for intelligent
life from under the ash
smeared lip of the volcano. -- tlk