Of Contented Love
Down the shadow-colored corridor of the canyon,
an echoing storm booms dissent.
Do you feel what I see, the noisy birds
streaking behind seed heads,
the writhing of the sun, a glimmering pull
The settled lines in your body reach toward me,
the aspen tremble and clap the yellow rules of the sky
and through the grasses I ask,
"Who are you in all of these forms, slicing into my skin?"