Hands at ten & two,
late Miles on Bluetooth,

I’m driving north, stopping
again & again

to bury roadkill,
a coyote, jackrabbits

three diamondbacks, even a
young red-tailed hawk.

I’m driving north, where
I once rode my old gelding

around the reservation,
visiting the hogans

of my friends. We’d
drink coffee & laugh

at my little orange horse,
his cow hocks, his blaze face

& nasty disposition.
Listening to Miles play

“Yesternow,” I’m driving north,
yes, where it once rained. 

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(photo is of the author as a boy with his horse)