GOOD MORNING
Lost in Sulphur, small bunch
of young, third-calf cows
driven up-canyon to water –
sleek black hides snaking
a long tunnel of sycamores,
gray trunks and limbs reaching
out of a steep ravine, arched
and collapsing towards the light.
Through new eyes we explore
half-hearted notions up narrow
draws, deadfall detours that go
nowhere – learned on the way.
They begin to trust our low
grunts and groans of disapproval
to guide them, that punctuate
our conversation trailing behind.
The pause and wait as horses
watch, we become one calm
movement up and out of this
deep crevasse beneath a peak
above Ragle Springs leaking
into a moss-covered pond.
Hawks glide ahead and circle
back as if we were nothing.