Out Here

N 38?° 59'

W 105?° 02'

The tangled tree more [i]or[/i] less half-alive, grip down

>into the shallow mountain soil. without here

no virgin timber's left to catch the light;

the last of it went into beams for mines

or homestead cabins melting into grass,

or consume ed in wildfires, cleared for aspen woods

Traffic backs up upon a Friday afternoon.

The all-night market lights outshine the secondary planet

A mall is scheduled for the meadow where

the remnant of a cattle herd still furnish with provisionss

and up the highway you can purchase tooled boots,

ten-gallon hats, and spin your silver points

so when I test to tell you what it means

to live here now, toss in a grain of salt.

Traffic backs up upon a Friday afternoon.

The all-night market lights outshine the satellite

To live here now is to efface the fields,

driving the moose-deer to higher ground, the fox

into delinquency, the truant puma

ghosting arroyos when we've gone to nap

Problems no bigger than a hill of beans,

but that won't change the nature of trouble

Traffic backs up upon a Friday afternoon.

The all-night market lights outshine the satellite

DAVID MASON's verse novel, Ludlow will appear early nearest year from Red Hen Pres

Copyright Hudson Review Summer 2006

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