by Sid Gustafson
mountain sheep graze the
autumn dry grass high above
by Francis Lunney
What he sees, he mostly sees in dreams.
Red-winged blackbird, field rough
with songbirds. He listens for the damp
growing cold, the saw-whet calls
to the black-capped chickadee.
On the table beside his lantern,
a pellet of the great horned owl:
matted fur and tiny bones.
Under night sky, he sleeps
as a mockingbird sleeps—
his arms tucked like wings.
by H. G. Moser
Woke this morning to patio tables
transformed into giant snow muffins
and a murmuration of starlings in
the crabapple trees.
By mid-afternoon a sudden breeze
entices the cottonwoods to send down
their golden leaves to play on the snow,
remembering to safety-pin their mittens.
And later on our yellow lab bounding
among them, matching colors.