Ignacio Autumn

Winter will come to close

the barn door,

and that may be just as well.

The long-haired horse

waits as grasses

are baptized brown.

An old newspaper drifts

over the field. I snatched it!

There, a faded quarterback

seems to be running off the page.

Frayed horse blankets stained

in memory hang by the stall,

while outside,

the grey-worn granite

perseveres another ageless weathering.

We pray for silver rains to

dampen the blue cedar smoke

wafting over sacred lands.

– Burt Baldwin, Ignacio