Billy Goat

Billy Goat was a tuckapaw
a hard trotting little gelding
but at a dead run
your face on his neck
the ground was a blur

When I left the ranch
the days of the big drives past
he was a pensioner
I never got around to asking
what became of him

Whether he died in the pasture
he had known all his life
or was sold off
to an ignominious end
I'd rather not know

I'll remember those races over hills
turning runaway herds
that back breaking trot
that even posting couldn't overcome
he was a real cowpony
who made his rider a real cowboy

Cattlemen

The last chore of a summer day
beside my father in his jeep
watching cattle graze in the evening coolness
after their torpid day of shade seeking
and tails ceaselessly slashing at flies

They would slowly raise their heads at our passing
steadily chewing, tails now simply swishing
as the practiced eye of the cattleman took their measure
alert for problems needing attention

And my eyes darted about the herd
anxiously trying to prove my worth
to catch what he might have missed
that I might swell with pride
upon receipt of his approbation

Beneath The Shade

Beneath the shade
where fallen leaves hide mantis tracks and wormcast
stringent earth burst for moles
sucking seeds into a womb
that cares not what it nurtures

A disregard of fulcrum
and contempt for the measured thought
our chances become as good as random
maybe as just as the odds for an acorn
except that we resist being planted

At some point we invented eternity
afraid to contemplate an end
so we scratch at any barrier
that is set to keep us in our place
and trot out our misgivings for everyone to see

Half-Dream

Our half-dream nights
tightened the tourniquet of disbelief
we were love dogs chasing our tails and betting on improbable sequences

Then, you had me in your grasp
until I proved to be the least of your distractions
now your fingers clutch my shadow as you wonder how I learned to think

Separated by the lengthening distance between need and touch
we cannot converse by shouting
everything I wanted to tell you could only be said in a whisper

Eyes

The easiest thing about being yourself
is all the years of practice
the hardest thing is who everyone else wants you to be
and then there are those moments
when you are beyond the borders of your being
unrestrained and so aware of your desires

I can tell you've got it figured out
you know what brick goes where
that the surest ride is when you saddle you own horse
even if it's not the most exciting
I hear it in the vocabulary of your eyes
they tend to speak volumes