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