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Show From Paragonah to Alaska For Sam that unto which a man cZeaveth so he is The red hills open to let in the wind. Dust floats through the oak underbrush then sweeps away in alternate currents to the skys corner where a hawk screes then folds and comes down blind, moves from one myopic association to another rising and shrieking, now quickly gone and swallowed by the cracks and stains of high rock. The wind writhes again, moves down the canyon, an insane woman tearing against the skin of her lover. You can sit for hours, friend, letting it all enter. The rip current carries your voice as far as you want. You can touch the mixing clouds,taste the rank earth. When you come down the red dirt hides soft in the lines of your hands. |