Winter Kills the May Pole


Balancing a frozen rose
on a May pole is the fear
of machinery. The cord one foot
behind your head, its wayward stem.
Red is heavier than white
and thorny foot to foot. 
Two is easier than one trellis.
Their centers are fragrant
antiques.
Others wonder about
eyebrows, skirts,
needles falling, the morning dance.
At night, the river flows between,
over-wintered and dark.
Merry May is tiny back and forth,
a problematic dip.

 Our Sky

Not a vessel. Or a lid.

Our sky is an invitation engraved with clouds,
raw and claustrophobic.

Our sky sheets the fields, mocks the dish rag moon,
morning star’s extreme.

Homily for Bird Land


The pastor pulls down, yin yang on the belfry rope.
300 sea gulls in an alfalfa field face east and say, aaowwh.

Avocets are envelopes opening and closing, white and black tithes
cast over the pond. After ping pong we hug.

Hummingbirds sip honey from the book.

Waxwing murmurer, rose hip rosary beads, rain drops
on the back of your neck. My wings roll away from the inquisitor.

Is It a Sin?

I step over green tourists here for the film fest.
Is it a sin to say spring cloys me?

Puny limbs, goofy green nails,
Could they pull their weight in ten below?

Their floppy smiles cancel out our hidebound winter.
Each day more arrive, poking around the barn and corral.

Asparagus

Last fall you bolted oblivion and erred. 
Your feathers and beads trampled by needles.
Where was I?

Canada overhead. Our village down by a third.
This morning you show me a sixteenth of yourself.
I haven’t been paying attention.

Did my neglect of  your heart
choke the false and bushy carrots?
The new grass congratulating itself?

Our horses bolt when the dust devil snakes their fuzzy legs.

Neighbor Yvonne said, We hope you stay and die here with the rest of us.

Ekphrastic Manifesto


30/30

A hug or half a kiss.
Two moons riding a mountain.
Padlock minus a key.
What do you have in store for me?
Almost two B’s, soft backward E’s,
or four knees
facing south of the sea.
Two creatures carrying stones.
A mirror between.

About Me

I’m an outlier’s outlier.

I live on the eastern edge of the western edge of the Great Basin. My nearest neighbor to the south in late August is Black Rock City. The rest of the year three and half hours is how I measure distance. That’s what it takes to get anywhere from here. If you were to visit me it would seem longer than three and a half hours if you started at the place where I turn around. That’s because time stretches when you go somewhere new, especially in the desert.

I’m not the only one living on the edge of the edge. You might be too, just a different edge. I spend quite a bit of time holding on. It's like balancing a rose in each hand. But it’s worth it. Every time I turn around something fantastic happens. My private back yard is an ocean of sagebrush. My front yard is Shangri-la.

If you want to learn more about what it’s like here I hope you’ll stick around
Three Horse Garden this month.

We have a Starbucks.

Barbara