through Idaho, Colorado.

This is a trip of up and down:
hills, mountains flat and plateau
East to West. Wait,

West to East.

through Idaho, once, a trip
of there and back again,
this time no stout ponies, no

we're in a Volvo this time
gliding over terrain I knew
in the cinema screen I keep
on the back of my skull. This land
had to be, and I see you, but wider.

Hello wide open,
hello barn doors. Frost and froth trees.
Hair that freezes,
makes dusky crystals to break wide open
my heart pouring out in headlight mist
and brights.

Eyes to the tilled earth
slow turn the furrowed chocolate.
It closes its eyes each winter,
whispers away bye and till
the ground bursts spring.

Grace.

I am a free floater
on the cusp but never in one place
skirting the edges of ponds like dragonflies
avoiding the roots and tubers because
they cling.

Come spring I shed my scalp, my skin
proclaiming to you a sign of all things new
but asking for the same green-eyed answers
at every new year and

now my tattoos are razor sharp
but I fear the day when they will fog over
my bellybutton dandelion fuzz blown off
windmills spinning
anchor unchained
and I reply:
It just is.

Trace them, she shows ink into inky night.
Space them with your fingers;
I might tell you what they mean
in the darkness
followed by the sound of rain.
If you're lucky. You might kiss my lips, you know.

The world is iron fist
I hope my body becomes a soft cushion
for all I know;
stroke my head, it's a porcupine making love.

Our eccentric mother will reply at the end of the day,
it just is.

Oh for more.

We grew from the land of ice

that never froze--

not really.

Trike tires skidding on chilled asphalt

in the way they did,

the rain came indoors,
through basement drains;
water clung to the wet neighbor dog.
Bones were cold and clueless

interior beings curled up close

to one another on soggy sofas.

Now my lips lack moisture,
white ash and dust
shrivel round the red peach skin red
that used to be, but now isn't

save when they bleed in dry smiles.

This could be sweet deliverance.

If I Could Inspire Jealousy.

hey, up there, see that yellow light in the window;

it is he who tells the story

the story of the bear and kai-oat-ee

taking the grain at harvest time.

All of our friends came

to the fireside,

see, and they all gathered round,

told me how much they loved your ways

they loved the way your words made magic

at twilight, among the searchlights

and the birthday of your city.

I don't drink beer to escape

but to get it up, get the story up

get the grasses up and active, working.

If my hair were sage brush

damn, would it smell good,

and men would love me, and women would envy,

want my wampum bracelets and belts.

The Covers Album.

Naked if I want to, slylike,
I climb up tree drainpipe,
drip honeydew in summer,
sweat down the small of my hide.

And all the moonlight hippie titties,
naked if they want to,
nip off diamond droplets,
disturbing the water

our strings long plucked,
the wind shakes branch buds,
sends browned petals down
to their death, to their drowning.