CONSCIOUSNESSLESS



Bald in the bare-boned cottonwood
long dead behind my home. Evolution

spins on. Interrupts * Leaps continuums.
You, my bird, look out over the irrigated

wetlands of Snyder's Ranch at the Wright's Mesa
headwaters of Maverick Draw & when you go

your kin will come supplant you.
But I am cursed with memory's sentence

as I watch, alone, your white ruffles
crown a magnificent black robe.

Remembering all the eagles seen before.
Holding each moment's beauty & never

letting go. Caught in conscious lock & load
mode instead of dumb nature's free flight.

art goodtimes / 15 january 2005
union of street poets
vincent st. john local / colorado plateau / aztlán
kuksu brigade (ret.) / san francisco