Tuesday, November 23, 2004


In the land of many visions I roam
and enter a room with one I have not met before now.
Her home is welcoming, her smile subtle.
We step outside onto a short path to the treed panorama of the canyon.
We linger at a wood sculpture, of a seal perhaps.
Short logs split in half, jointed roughly,
with a small hand rubbed stub on the top,
smoothed as if an upturned nose.
Exquisite play of a master heart,
where a deft touch shows an artful vision.

We return to the room and music is the muse, hear.
Mellow the tone where few surfaces glare and shine.
The mood is subdued, soft and quiet the light,
Zen the expression.

Through shared smoke comes the land of many visions:

Life is hard and good on the ranch,
Muscles ache and sweat comes easy,
Dust and spit, whip, rope, horse and muck,
Yells in the wild wind, smells in the tame barn,
Work to be done that doesn’t end at nightfall
Hunger in the belly for familiar table.

And the Easterner comes with his think about,
rather than his do about.
He comes for change,
with an eye of uncommon sense
in a place of horse sense skill.

I turn to the cabin with soft and warm bed
and smells of lilac and musk.
The candle casts a flickering shadow world onto the logs
and we retreat to the comfort of tender flesh
with dreams of rooms to enter,
paths to follow,
with companions of short duration.

Norfolke 2004

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