The hard fall

October weight settles on maples
in thick wet mounds that bend
branches until they rip
away from limbs.

Power lines bow and bounce
beneath white as it slips
off in long, crashing dashes
and a citywide blackout
brings traffic to a freeze.

I’ve pushed the bed
against the window
and lie pillowed in the frame
watching early snow
frock my backyard.

As beautiful as it comes,
I know this kind of falling
soaks through carefully worn
layers until it chills the skin.

Man Enough to be a Daddy *For Adam*

I see you with your little girls
and it makes me think 'bout my dad
'cause every look you glance their way
reminds me of the good I've had


I know the way she feels your strength,
how she cries against your shoulder
The love that gives her boundaries,
and the tenderness that holds her


She won't see until she's older
how much you gave to see her smile,
the ache that grows with distances,
how much love fills an empty mile.


While I can't stop the shadows
that will follow you through badlands,
I can pray you through the sharp turns
that take you far from tiny hands.


So from one daddy's daughter
to another daughter's daddy
keep being exactly what you are...
her champion, her Gandhi.

Misplaced Mountain Laurel

I don’t think I should be here
among the star gazers and velvet
tongued empresses, I am awkward

petals and stiff limbs, my leaves
do not fade and fall, I am never reborn
nor do I return to earth to poke
my way into warmth. Snow settles

on my evergreen sleep, wind rattles
through branches that do not bare.
Yet every summer, when the sun
moves away, pink and white

blossoms remind me I am
more than just a shrub.

The stars are getting high

Ketchum smoke hangs
fog-like, ghosts the limestone
cliffs and mountain mahogany
of Pass Creek Canyon.

I’ve scrambled up to peek
in the small mouth of a cave
above camp and hiked
among pines to taste afternoon
warmth. In the tent, kids
cocoon in hard-play sleep
and blue nylon bags.

Firelight licks the Merlot
in my plastic cup as the haze
lifts and I see Orion’s belt
span a dark delta. The air
is clearing as if zodiacs are
inhaling the burning grass.

Summer Solstice

It’s 4 a.m. and sunlit
grass bobs in the breeze,
tall and summer heavy
where we sprawl,
almost touching.

A masked waxwing darts
through quaking aspen,
chirping as he flits away
on crimson-dipped flight.

Cicada tymbals chatter,
and our laughter
gurgles spring-like
as your gaze reflects
the opulent caramel
of Tiger’s Eye.

And though I am afraid
of waking, I lean
across to kiss you.

closing the miles between

I can’t look at mountains
without wanting you
trekking ahead of me,

leading me to summits
I would not explore alone,
taking me to a world
where only you and I

see the vastness of time
rise to touch eternity
as history spreads
in peaks and valleys.

Western clouds gather
to rumble and spill.
How many thunderstorms
will resound through my pane

with flashes of light
and tremulous echoes
before my heart stops
waiting for you?

Petticoat Peak

A wooden frame stands
on her rocky top
time-gray and warped.
Rusted penny nails hold
cracked boards carved
with names and years
as far away as 1919.

To the east, Salt River’s
snowy peaks are prairie points
binding ground blocks;
fresh plowed brown
and new-growth green
quilted by pivots and roads.

Below us, a dust devil
curls a dirty column
from exposed soil,
winds into oblivion
on a grass border.

Westward, mountain tops
fan across Earth's palm
like a hand of cards
dealt for play and cool
breezes venture fragrant
offerings of sage across
the windswept ridges
of Fish Creek Range.

Stones and Rainbows

Needles of Lodgepole fasten
sheets of charcoal clouds
to the ridgeline of the narrow
canyon between Butte and Helena.

An outburst of hail ricochets off asphalt
and spatters the windshield, slows
our snake along I-15 north and fills
the truck with banging of riotous cymbals.

Caliginous light blurs spring grass
a dusky jade silk as we round a corner
and clouds brush back to watercolor
refracted rays across pine valleys.