Fog

This morning
the clouds reach down
to embrace the earth
with frost as a sign
of the midst of winter.

A Hawk

a witness
watches everything
we are seen

Not Native Here

My roots do not run deep
here in this red rock and clay
or in any place.
I am cut off from Kansas,
from California,
from North Dakota,
from Utah and Nevada.

No, not a place.

But, my roots run deep
into the lives
of fathers and mothers,
of grandparents,
of my ancestors
of humanity,
deep into blood and dreams.

I remember wheat fields.

We Have Seen It All

We see what we want
from what we can see,
thinking we have seen it all.

Others

others walk here
the same as me
(but without shoes)

their path
reveals intentions
and their art

Looking at an Old Photograph

Beyond My Reach

How much is beyond my reach:
The birth and death of stars,
The beginning of life,
Our world's history.
And I will not live to see
How it all turns out.
My children's children's children's
World is not mine,
It is beyond my reach.