Sagebrush

Silver friend
I’m sorry to always moan
About dim dreich cabins
Rock built in your wide caress
You’re no misery grisly grown – 
But glabrous glamourous perfume
To my eye
Fringed golden silver
Bent noble grove where no tree else
Moonlight flame above the draw
Wormwood of old fools
They do not know the heaven scent 
Of your crushed branches
Though it fills the air in protest
As they drag battleship chains
Rattling through your embrace
Have they slept in your welcome bed
At the end of long days?
Where the deer make their hide
Where the quail hide their young
Have they filled their heart with holy crackling clean 
Heat bursting with mountain mahogany
Purple flames as the smoke dogs curl around their legs?
But my poor one note song is always of our loss – 
Hold on silver friend against fire, poison, bulldozer power
That would sweep you away and leave us,
In place of your holy incense,
Wheatfield and cheatgrass.
I would trade all those French fries and onion rings
For the taste of your bitter bite, a crust of alkali wildness
Poached from the Land of the Big Idea. 

Author: Duncan MacNae

Exiled Gael, scion of the Dust Bowl, dweller within Divine Grace, admirer of mountains, I have made my peace with trout and the starlings. Looking for a river and healing trees. duncanmacduncan5@gmail.com View all posts by Duncan MacNae