not every trail leads to a petroglyph

even though the parking lot

is full of false expectations

only the ancients with sacred hands

speak with the mountains

volcanic rock sorting out the living from the past

the grasses turn yellow

and then move on

--- e b bortz

adobe portal

roughneck walls speak in tongues

the wood 2 by 6 door frame

is open even on christmas eve

you hope you've found

at least one secret

--- e b bortz

earth note 725

even a sunny winter day solstice

isn't more than a cross between

darkness and everlasting light

the eventual drying up of the rio grande

     a definite possibility

when the snow pack dies of thirst

so you ask

how is the weather in albuquerque

     there are no answers just riddles

last week a motorcycle traveler from wyoming then texas

on his way to an agricultural runoff in middle florida

said there's nothing but sludge in albuquerque

but of course he never acknowledged

his own sewer

so i guess i'll wear his element of truth

before the sun goes down and hides the evidence

there's a debate among the people living on the street

in the shadows of broken adobe & sheet metal roofs

about who should speak first

with their opening statement

like the walls the artists paint

with their own blood

--- e b bortz

dog park justice

albuquerque

wildness just below the surface

and a couple of huskies mixed in

for good measure

the play gets rough

from time to time

or maybe it's all just for show

something learned

from washington insiders

wouldn't it be something

to bring on the road

to believe in

like the truth

will set us free

     round & round the perimeter they chase

mouths & noses open

to new sensations      new possibilities

stripping away the phony

     spit slips into the gears

of clunky machinery

greasing the money markets

with a false sense of accomplishment

     sisters & brothers this ain't the real economy

but the growth of bare subsistence

loose treats dropping down

into a collective bark

of desperation

--- e b bortz

earth note 724

highway 50 kansas

if you pound on a rusty grain silo

and it echoes back empty

you might be in kansas

or somewhere else

where the cost of planting and water

can bury you before you start

but there's still a sharp full sun

bursting down on clean steel rails

like a message coming home

arriving before the train

roaring past the once living canopy

waiting for the sunflowers

--- e b bortz

earth note 723

a freight train enters the ohio valley

like it owns it

politicians are always looking for votes

their tongues sticking to cold steel

coal greased wheels

a hundred cars

at ten miles an hour

casino gamblers trickling in early today

replacing swing shift commodity traders

waiting for monday

--- e b bortz

streetlights

traversing up to the ridges

     and above the ridges

along perrysville avenue

and the charles street valley

leave orange sodium glare

where there were once houses

bouncing off bare hillsides

     hillsides we climbed nearly sixty years ago

when it still snowed

and below

in the river valleys

streetcars sang through hairpin curves

and car barn turn-a-rounds

wet snow stuck to you

then soaked you through

until your legs itched

and then drying off

next to a hot radiator

taking the heat inside

     you didn't mind the gray winter

the bottom of buena vista street

led into the park

a footbridge over railroad tracks

frozen in time

marking your first steps

on your own

--- e b bortz

earth note 722

pine and maple

hold a snow dusting

in their arms

motionless

like a meditation

the traffic reacts

goes manic

for a tuesday

school buses need to chill

or go on climate strike

a sparrow looking for cover

knows every storm

on the weather map

crows straying from the graveyard

head toward the wake

i've been told that these lines

are sounding too familiar

i can't disagree

need a change in venue

even the dog is getting bored

--- e b bortz

earth note 721

if i could catch the spirit

in a bottle and put it on the shelf

december wouldn't be

as dark and gray

as it started out to be

these green walls might lift you

up above the fray

where the newspapers fade to yellow

the truth leaving fast

there's no need to find excuses

the leaves are close to compost

where the death knell brings new life

you said there's not much difference

a debate is never a debate

the sky is like a beginning before the shouting

those are not wet streets

but mirages

like the highway calling out

close your eyes for a thousand crows

     your voice in a bottle

--- e b bortz

forgetting my key west cap on the oklahoma panhandle

chalk it up to age

or the red soil in your eyes

or a dark day before a moonless

or full-moon night

sometimes the stars

cover your wounds

'cept for the ones inside

sometimes you just need

to change everything

let the algae blooms

eat themselves out

or let's barge in and choke

the oil platforms

in their embryo

the heat is pushing

the rio grande backwards

up from the gulf through the canyons

of elephant butte

all the way to albuquerque

and then on to colorado

before cooling down a bit

it's never been like this before

native people in alaska

losing their homes and shoreline

to the rising ocean

charting new maps

backtracking moose tracks

reindeer herds lost on a winter night

those americana chords

were dug up about the time

of the maya

before the exceptional

became an ism

when the clay of the human hand

could lead you back home

--- e b bortz

earth note 720

an editor years ago

after publishing a shitload of my poems

over a several year period

asked me to stop using

the earth note numbering method

     for poem titles

implying that i seem to have found

a lazy way of titling

     yeah

     there's an element of truth there

but i've never been a fan

of orthodoxy

nor of conforming

to any editor-self-inflating-wordplay

     puffery makes poor poetry

so let that stand as my

     au revoir

--- e b bortz

earth note 719

the morning had color

for a change

what's left of maple yellow

bright contrast

on a broken blue sky

scattering shadows

left by a muse or two

     you know this is a full-time job

--- e b bortz

earth note 718

after a day of rain

the land changed

the flat roof porch turned into a still life

the rivers still too low to be heard

     hide their shadows instead

in maples well on their way

to being leafless

you already know the phrase

about weather men & women

repeating the obvious

is too easy of a way

     out

there is no way out

when the dog barks

you know you've taken

too much for granted

a rumbling below

comes in an odd frequency

     only nonhumans and trees can feel it

if you stay to the trail

footprints and words

become predictable

--- e b bortz

earth note 717

about the time we reach new mexico

every gnarly haired dog

will become the wildness

     free spirit

of the mesquite tree

like the one growing

out of the rock

its roots going deep

     deep enough

to survive another dry year

the sun drops on its way

to a brown horizon pulling it down

high desert dreams become dust

     as the ground shifts

mesquite twists

--- e b bortz

jerome arizona circa 1980

our paths may have crossed

about the time the art galleries found a home

on main street

long after the copper mine wars

now metal desert

a dustbin portal from the wobblies 1917 strike

& deportation from the land of the 'free'

i don't know if utah phillips ever wrote

a song about it

but he might have

and long before that

the songs of the hohokam

now sculpted into cold rock

transitioned into old frame houses of living color

     oil paint on canvas

frame makers and fabric artists

i can see a singer/songwriter

in a vintage studio

& tourists climbing those hills

carrying their own crosses

and yes there's always love

     kate wolf

heartbeats     hands & a voice

caught just in time

when the verde valley

sings

--- e b bortz

earth note 716

first flakes are listless

almost still

random rendezvous

to even fall this gray morning

is still something

of a transformation

--- e b bortz

i never said the highway wouldn't be just an empty promise

any direction

year in year out

corn fields or orange groves

when it all passes

it's just

earth or ashes

just because you hold the wheel

doesn't mean you'll ever stay

on the straight and narrow

the lines in your face

and below your waist

tell a different story

someone a long time ago

told me that every day

that passes without a reckoning

is just another wasted one

     eventually

you run out of days

what looks like doom

might just be the end of time

or a song not written yet

or hidden words between the lines

you forgot to speak

when you had the chance

--- e b bortz

earth note 715

riding rain and a gray overcast

a drum line of crows

echo from the wings

to center stage

followed by an entourage

of a hundred more

their voices riffraff

backbeat

then fade

--- e b bortz