Moon Over Borah
Photo credit: Willy Braun
It's the way light
sits on her crags
sketches shadows
in charcoal runs
that disappear in a cluster
of scattered pine.
The way caliginous clouds
shroud her apex,
virga drifting off the skirts
of the storm.
She stands watch
as wind coils devils
of dust, racing
a lone pronghorn
through a tract of sage
where Indian paintbrush
blooms pink and purple lupine
sway to the echo
of thunder rumbling
down the canyons
of Lost River Range.
And always,
it's the way Moon
sits in her saddle,
his face glowing soft
against the climax
of her summit.
Laurel
May 28, 2025
