Blurred

When am I the antelope,

the eagle,

the horizon bracing

against the wind,

the fences cutting the bleeding

wild into disordered time?

When am I the wildflowers,

when am I the snow

blotting out the road?

When am I the chalice

of stillness holding

all I see?

Where does the body end

and the plains begin?

published in The Journal of Radical Wonder