Monday, November 27, 2017

Cedar Mesa, and 6 haiku toward ramen


















Cold as I had hoped
this whole river sliding on
past the cottonwoods.

Pecked into these walls
spirals, men, horses, and goats
and there, a mammoth.

Now catching our breath,
yellow light on the San Juan,
we change in the willows.

Bringing back water
I heard an "irregardless."
Those guys aren't German.

Round pot between us.
Could be my own breath, or yours,
this steam leaping up.

MSG and salt,
stiff book of wavy noodles,
crooked staff of life.

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