Friday, January 3, 2020

First Light on the Mesa

Quiet, grey desert
Morning in winter—
One black cow grazing,

Four skittish mule deer,
No trucks on the road—
Which means poetry

About what humans
Have done to humans
Feels foolish right here.

I like foolishness
Better than wisdom,
But neither right now.

And what else is there?
Beyond feckless groans
And sage pronouncements,

The ordinary
Business of a day
Turning in the light.

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