here the grass shakes and hisses
a song there, a remembering
small lynx is a wave in the meadow
you’ll miss her me if you’re not looking
i turn from the ugly
that precedes some people
wave them on. keep moving. smells bad
i am lowly here
place of dirt and the long gaze
singing a traveling song
i gather the waste
dancing counter clockwise
until the dead are honored
i am 7000 swallows turned from a butterfly
burlap sac for a dress
shotgun shells, mescal and Sphaeralcea ambigua
are my medicine
i cuss and make all this up
it’s late. i’m still up
haven’t blinked yet
see me
the dreamer elk 
disappear
become fog