A Golden Purview

hymns on the cattle trail

roll off canyon walls,

they seep through the trenches,

disappearing as poetic leanings

turn toward lower art.

the rock explodes and stretches

from borders deserted and paralyzed,

concrete mountains usurp the valleys,

casting aside the ale wives on the street.

atop the golden lookout

roams the ghost of buffalo bill.

he's restocking the gift shop shelves,

concerned for his bottom line.

I came to dance in a sea

of interminable making, yet

with a blink and a glow

go the stars in my eyes,

for I cannot mold my hometown,

no, it has birthed me.