Peyote buttons at first
           swell larger then back small
           As bagpipes, played
           by hummingbirds.

           And I once saw a pool
           of plenty and three blackbirds
           One a yellow-headed
           rook’s sunset eye looks

                                       Across the chasm
                        becomes distantly linked
           To the voices welled
up the canyon walls.

Lamenting the waters
            unfrozen once more,
                         Lily flames the face
                                     of all our born race.

           Drumlin and high desert drumming
           merged—emerged
           From ‘Little’ Joe’s hogan
           a distant music.

          Perhaps I’ll listen
           closer tomorrow or now
            Before the isle vanishes
              in turn, in mist.