watering the canyon

feast day danny blackgoat says

while we three pause our sheep corral



i just want to go to the canyon and write

i say and trish forcefully removes the

dollar store plastic bowl filled with

corn kernels from the cobs i’m removing them from

from my lap and says go


breaking point i say about how i only got as far

as writing today’s date and then spent

the rest of the half hour crying

(watering the canyon trish calls it)


i’m a scorpio i say watery, full of emotion

as baigz and i bench-perch side by side

in the morning northern arizona sun

and dry cool wind

plastic bowls collecting de-cobbed corn kernels

in our laps


trish and baigs cackling out my name

at the edge of their canyon cave entrance

while sun slides closer

to horizon


canyon rocks shaped like some 70s movie set

that takes place in outer space

and we rise up out of their arroyos

to meet the rising of the moon

one day away from fullness

in an un-dark sky

just as sun tangerines, exact opposite, 

and we stand in the magnficent middle


tone tone and chewy

tossing clods of compressed sheep shit

into wheelbarrow

as trish, baigz and i 

cheer each point on


the blessing of hauling wheelbarrows of sheepshit

isthe fresh-ish gulps of air i take in

best i can from behind the hankercheif

knotted at my neck


danny blackgoat

upon his sampling of sorghum

says i’ve had this before-

a long time ago,

maybe when i was five or six


you look like a ninja baigz says to me in my

poopshoveling getup (black rainpants and

black long sleeves and lavender hanky balaclava

plus white cloth wrapped around my hair under

sequin stripe rainbow hat)

as he lifts layers off earth with prybar

and trish is nearby, pickaxing the loosened parts


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