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  Quail Eddy

Something was bothering the quail, some drama behind
the woodshed, but I couldn't see what it was. The sky

had already started to darken and its sharp light fell
in rumpled sheets across the pasture and its cowpond.
      I raised
a thigh against the porch rail and opened another beer.
It was a good and pleasant view to examine keenly;

there were opuntia dancing among the tumbleweeds
and an old truck just coming up the canyon

delivering its signal of dust. Fine instances
of pastoral harmony herded my shifting thoughts

yet I left them to start the evening fire. Later I shall
take them where their fire shadows dance against the
      canyon wall.

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