There is no Song
Years ago, as light from a sun rising red spilled over the Organ Mountains,
I walked worn trails, followed ridges and arroyos around Tortugas Peak.
Then, a coyote-song could be heard drifting with the wind as a pack moved
along the east mesa. These were public lands, but overgrazing and creosote
had choked out the grasses, and though there was no cattle on the land,
the government still offered a bounty and men armed with traps and poison
took out entire lairs.
These days I walk those same trails with a breeze in my face, but there is no song rising with the sun.
all the silence
of the earth’s shadow