Sage Green Journal (http://sagegreenjournal.org/jacqueline-st.-joan.html)

I

I drive the canyons of the West

Deliberately,

The way I drag my finger between

The shoulder blades of the cat.

 

II

The earth fired this mountain

Before it was the West, before

Weber or Madison or Curtis

before Morrison or Mancos,

Dakota or Jurrasic.

 

III

Flaming Gorge ,

One gigantic rock

Sliced red on the diagonal,

Stacked from floor to

The heaven of the West.

 

IV

Was it in the West that I loved you?

Pre-Cambrian? Or before that?

Tonight I sleep at the edge of your canyon.

I listen to your starry wind.

 

V

Golden light of autumn

Wide, scattered rolls of hay

Shades of lavender and horses,

The sky and fences of the West.

 

VI

In the face of the wide open

Thighs of the West,

I am shy.

 

VII

I see the snow-capped sea monster

In the bony Western spine

Of a mountain range risen and resting.

 

VIII

Sweetwater.

Deer Lodge.

Steamboat Springs.

My tongue plays

The words of the West.

 

IX

All afternoon the crows

Are calling, racing around

The treetops of the West.

 

X

Bring the Western sky inside you

Peace is blue.