Never Not in the Middle

On little couch, I’m tight between
my youngest son and Love.

There’s the obvious:
Earth and sun.

I’ve been between a cabin
And Salida twenty years.

Wandering a sagebrush dream
Between abstract and concrete.

Incision and Death.
Prairie fog, white Leadville breath.

Mope and door.
Silence and the ringing ear.

Empty freezer,
Black boar.

Speckled hen,
running cow.

Now.

2017