You know how I like barbed wire, how it twists
Around old wood
How fenceposts lean; how I like to find a good place
To sit down on the sandstone
A mouse ran up the stone, sat right next to me
“Do you know the tall and the dark under?” it said.
“No, I don’t think so,” I said.
“Just wait. You’ll see.”
I wonder: are we having a dialogue on the dead, here?
I hear a hawk screech, or is it
Under my feet are millions of voices, but
All I hear is this brown mouse
Glancing sidelong and running like hell to
Slip into the shade.
*Photo location: Abiquiu, New Mexico