Saturday, May 6

Sego Lily

A poem by Laurie Wagner Buyer

Cowboy, the world turns too fast anymore.

Firelight brightens your bowed head and clasped
hands that others may mistake for prayer
or contemplation.

Only I know it's longing, loneliness that weights
you so.

High in the hills the horses' night bells ring peace.

But always, the return: the steep rock and sage
covered slopes down to the valley, the weary
ways of those who don't know the meaning of
a sure-footed mule, a sand-bottomed creek, or
a flat, grassy place to unroll a bed.

You know I know. Our descent is difficult.

No words pass between us but in one dancelike
you dismount and take from the sandy soil

a sego lily

trumpet-shaped and fragile, three white petals

tell me how pure the wanting is.


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