the salt mines honeycombed farther down.
A wealth of sun and wind ever so strong
converged on that home town, long gone.
At the north edge there were the sand hills.
I used to stare for hours at prairie dogs,
which had their town, and folded their little
to stare beyond their fence where I was.
River rolling in secret, salt mines with care
holding your crystals and stillness, north prairie
what kind of trip can I make, with what old friend,
ever to find a town so widely rich again?
Pioneers, for whom history was walking through
I and the main things that happened were miles
and the time of day-
you built that town, and I have let it pass.
Little folded paws, judge me: I came away.
The Darkness Around Me Is Deep
(New York: HarperCollins. 1993)