glittering in

how the dried landscape
where kansas turns into colorado
glows gold in the redorange light of sunrise
and how this sight under the half moon is enough
to kill me a little (in a good way)
and there’s something in all of this
that feels nutritive –
fulfilling a desire i often forget i have
to be moving through changing landscape

the snow we are kicking up
while we roll on through
glittering in constant swirls about us
against the light blue of a clear sky

the magnificent light glowing through tufts
of gold grasses and their seed heads,
the whorls of hundreds of birds (geese? gulls?) hovering above
 a great patch of steam (a body of water? a landfill?),
the entire snow-coated surface of a pond/lake/wetland
catching light in its crystals and glowing it back out,
the wonder of moving water
along its curved course
as seen from above while we roll over its snaking – its slow current
carrying hunks of ice,
the vapor of breath lifting
from the nostrils of a cream-colored cow
placed among it all,
how all of this
breaks me
wide open

9:11am mountain time
first junipers
looming into view

see it the man whose name i later learn is bj 
points out the window at the coyote in the snow
and before that, four elk up in the juniper-studded fields
and after that, a crew of antelope
in the snow-white grass-gold scape

may it feed parts of you that you didn’t even know were hungry i write
on a postcard to shawn
whose stop is several hours before mine

1990s teal anything is my kind of ride
i text cerissa
who says she’ll be there at the station
in her small two door ford

i think i am coming alive i try to write
about what these mountains
and ponderosa pines
and sage brush
and red rock and
the light that falls on all of it
do for me

the incredible sadnesses
that sometimes sweep in
that might have to do with this movement, 
the landscape, the conversations
that can start anywhere and end up in
unexpected places with perfect strangers
though it also might just have to do with
being a human
since they (the sadnesses) have been swwping in
for days if not weeks if not months if not years if not decades now

what also sometimes sweeps in:
the stink
(which might be exhuast 
or could be some unknown other)
all i know
is that it comes in waves

how to name it all:
the tree limb fence posts
the tijuana feel of houses and yards
which also feel like tucson and
black mesa and –
the terra cotta colors and the
ramshackles and the 
dirt/sand for lawns and the curves
of adobe corners and
the powdery pinkblue sunset that pulls its blanket
over everything
although it is difficult for me
to accept the kindness
(of a friend’s roomate that i’ve never met)
i do, and we find each other in the train station parking lot
a pattern language book on hailey’s desk
and i can’t remember who told me sometime
in the past few months that i would like it
but whoever it was, i can tell after a few pages into it, was right


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