Northeastern Nevada Museum, Elko
Does nature breed stillness? Our glass
eyes multiply by night. The spaces yield
to yet more sets of fixed legs, crouched
to attack, tensed to flee. The suspense
of ever-readiness, the suspended pursuit
of cotton heart after rags and sawdust.
Our skin-jackets cradle the ghost
of bone discarded to exchange
our lives for saintly patience.
Nature is obedient. Nature
grows like plastic branches, cloth
leaves. Big horn sheep, coyote,
field mouse, vulture. We anticipate
Noah’s second coming. We have learned
harmony in still-life. Our blood runs dry;
there is nothing to fear.