TOWARDS FALL
1.
Off the hill behind the house, their home
since spring, sleek black heifers mill about
from under trees upon bleached feed
come evening. Talk around the trough
is brief with easy gestures, expectant mothers
fill with water, graze lazily and wait.
Together since calves, they mirror change
and remember in gazes – fire within
as they move, chatting idly about nothing.
2.
A coyote crosses in the distance,
not unseen as pups upcanyon practice
yips and yodeling. Lichened boulders
hold to the mountain, fractured stacks
of granite waiting for the decade, the
century to let go. A trail of baby quail
stir the dust, a gray hawk’s quiet glide
between oaks. Easy voices on the road
peddle down the creek towards home.
3.
And the dark swallows all. Tonight
lying naked in our bed exposed
to the sweet breath of a mowed lawn
upon our skins, to all the sounds
outside that find a part to play
in dreams, we close our eyes and
trust in the dog’s bark, the cow’s
bawl and the sun’s hot passion
to come and go again ‘til gone.