Life of Riley

I have been gone all winter.
Come back to the grass greened up
and the creek running like a thief.
I leave the radio off for three days,
just to hear the sound of him escaping
through the night, tripping on rocks
and swiping trees, heading it seems
for Cumpania, Yaqui Camp & onward.

Meanwhile late winter holds evidence
of spring. Up the hill spittle-wet
calves contemplate gravity, calm mama.
One new white goose flew. And Athena
the jobless herd-dog, lonely or hungry
or demented, daily crosses the creek
and tries to transform us into sheep.
It is difficult to appease her.