infusions LXXVIII – LXXXIV

Yellowstone Series

I.V. LXXVIII

Little tent village.
How many breakfasts cooking?
A buffalo waits outside the Men’s room.

I.V. LXXIX

Hands, chapped and cold,
that shaped wet sand into castles,
cradled a hummingbird until it flew.

I.V. LXXX

Cooking dinner in the dark.
Two lost spoons and a butter knife.

I.V. LXXXI

I laid my words on the picnic table,
Sorted them like index cards.
Autobiography of an ox-bow river.

I.V. LXXXII

Thirty-six degrees, bundled
In the back seat, I.V. dripping.
An osprey hovers over the Madison.

I.V. LXXXIII

Bubbling paint pots
Spots of rain
Chalky pink and lonesome

I.V. LXXXIV

Six elk bedded in orange meadow grass.
I’ve grown tired of the cold, and hats.

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7 thoughts on “infusions LXXVIII – LXXXIV

  1. Pingback: sunday post: autumn | Journey Back To Words

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