Blood-Heart Moon
                —To Mr. Baca

So hard to
make the way.

The sun wanes,
the moon lifts red.

The washboard road sifts
dust in the tracks.

The stargazer's sight
is spotted, blanched.

Sand whipped his ploweyes
in youth.

Make the cairn,
make the cairn,
make the cairn
ere the sun rises again.

Tweet

Copyright © 2017 Tony Reevy All rights reserved
from Socorro
Iris Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission