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