Peace Maps

Two poems from the collection Peace Maps (Finishing Line Press, 2020)

Chaco Canyon

[36.063, -107.964]

The question of mesquite,
near water, not far from fire
and howling coyotes—a thirst
twisting deeper than roots between
boulders.

The question of rock,
where gray and blue sky
whirl across circles of stones
shaped twice: by earth, by hands—
a settlement abandoned.

A question of the lost egg
from that rust-stained bird
whose shadow stalks us—
wings, feathers, empty sky,
thorns.

A question of snow
sudden, falling in silence
to cover our
footprints.

Desolation Wilderness

[38.875, -120.082]

We woke up next to the lake
startled by the sounds of trout splashing.
Wisps of fog swirled with frog shadows.
Our breath mingled with mist.
Juniper branches and memories scented our fire.
Yesterday, two flocks of geese flew northward.
After midnight, scattered coyotes sang to the stars.
This morning, I am unsure whether to follow the
trout, the coyotes, or the geese.
Maybe I will linger here in the shade, with you.
I am like a juniper with branches twisted
in ten thousand directions—
touching clouds.