FIRST SNOW: SOME IMAGES
Late yesterday afternoon, three vultures escorted
The night into the shimmering cottonwoods
While they waited for the next morning’s light
To feed on a road-killed deer:
The single prayer that forms the Creation
Provides not for humans alone.
On the way to the mailbox at dusk, the old man sees
Snow flakes
Caught in the spines of a prickly pear.
The sun drops behind the mesa;
The creek follows, singing
Its unceasing song in the sudden murk.
The cottonwoods, for a while, stop trembling.
Shadows, like a dagger, pierce the canyon.
Soon the darkness speaks to him.
Silence is the language
Broken by the drying grasses at roadside;
The hush sound like wings
As the canyon welcomes
The first snow of the year.
