Where three smooth pebbles dotted endless blue ceiling,
a beeline of overblown steel skeletons
jaywalked across bands of tawny stubble and billowing
golden barley far from any farmhouse or grain bin.
Ranchers and teamsters rolled yawning hours
along flipside mappings to converge as if by chance
in the shadow of a general store fillup
and turn back or press onward, depending.
Overhead, the giant grandmothers hummed fearlessly,
lugging buckets of current from shredded salmon.
After dusk we would sit with our portion
of bread and beer and pools of light,
ignoring how the watch continues.
poem copyright by Jnana Hodson
(originally appeared in the journal, Alternative Harmonies)