don't fence me in

After meditation this morning, Brigid and I went to her home/farm where I met the goats and their babies and even got to hold the little brown one you can just spot in the picture. Brigid took my picture holding the two-week old kid but I look so awful that you won't get to see it. Vanity! The beauty of digital? Poof! it's gone! No evidence.

Then it was off to the book shop for Bonnie's lecture and reading. She's been locally touring since the book came out.

The place was packed; people were sitting on the floor, standing against walls. In fact, all of Taos seems to be crowded and buzzing this Mother's Day weekend. There's a craft show in the park and other events happening all over town.

poetry & art 
Last night I participated in the Art Walk and Ekphrasis event at Town Hall; labeled as Poetry Influences Art, it was really the opposite. Poets chose artwork and then wrote something influenced by it. The painting I chose was slightly abstract and titled "Road to Albuquerque" by Linda Henderson. After the reading and art show, most of us drove to a wonderful home hidden in a narrow road loaded with old tall trees just greening out. Once there we enjoyed an abundant display of food, wine, conversation. I'm always amazed at the unexpected various homes and locations around here. Every home I've ever been in since I've lived here has surprised with something special that you'd never guess driving or walking by.

Three Bald Eagles

That last clear day I should have reconfirmed/
their presence--it might have been the last day./
I'm a failed witness. A moment passes, another, a third,/
the sun doesn't really set or the Wolf Moon rise./
There are no edges to contemplate./

Yesterday I saw the translucent waxing moon/
suspended near the peak, the sun facing it/
                                               across the river,/
thick rectangles of ice strewn along banks--/
a landscape's achievement or catastrophe./

I could go back today, park somewhere,/
look for eagles and the moon, write poems/
but I'm lost in the clouds--not metaphorical clouds/
--real ones that erase sky and distance, conceal/
mountains behind veils disguised as pure fact./

A rabbit dashes, shadowless, across patchy snow./
Imagine a pounding heart. Time and I mean nothing to it./
Even if I stood for an hour at the window,/
listened for the silence of souls and mountains/
                              --it comes down to this--/
I cannot sort out imbalance, put it all right./