Gold Panner

his eyes, like gold they glitter
golden cat eyes
greedy with the quickening winter
crowbar & garlic breath
down by the river
rushing cold water
teeth chatter, shoulders shiver
what mineral delights,
iron-stained, sand-mingled,
will the banks of the Fraser
choose to deliver?
or reveal...

in the instant of discovery
do waves wash over you?
does your soul,
a patient alchemist,
miss the minutes and hours
that the seeking
of precious nuggets,
flakes and flower
must (in favour of physics
and thermodynamics)
DEVOUR?

the treasure you stockpile
is weighty with value
stock market and otherwise
but money
never makes a man wise.
it is your soul
that, inlaid with gold,
can only appreciate
and never be sold.

A Poem

listening to the coyotes laugh
as the night falls, soft and dark
the golden whisky in my glass
glows in the cabin's candlelight.
I stay inside, enveloped in the warmth
and shadows
they dance inside and out.

those old worn-down mountains
casting dog voices all around
like rocks falling into the canyon
and the river laps them up
a tongue in the valley
and a voice,
it speaks.

my moon winks and watches
she's most patient in the night
covering it with her light
she can see every ripple
on the silver-snake back
of the talking river.
but what does the river say
to make the coyotes laugh?

as the river flows she speaks,
the gravely voice of ancients.
in her throat rocks rub and crash
chortling and choking,
"you laugh at me, as I run fast
and slow through seasons. you,
dogs!, laugh as the mountain
crowds me with sediment
fills in my depths and
makes me brown with ages.
you laugh because you do not see
I eat the mountain
as the mountain eats me
and where will you laugh
when we have eaten one another?
when only the moon stands to see?

and the coyotes laugh
because the know, as always,
the river or the falling rocks
will set them free.

my moon winks and watches
and shares a drink with me.

here we are

there is a valley, I know
but I sit atop a fortunate peak
and in the morning, I look below
mist like a lake, fills in the folds

with all the seeking and all the travel
with all the depths and heights to reach
wherever you go, there you are
and a home is just that, a home

where you eat and where you sleep
where your heart returns to rest
where the next journey begins
and where ever the last may end.

away with you

half moon breaking
breathing in blues
the empty wildness
is still.
grey hues of fog,
the mist off the mountain
together alone, in the cold
watching breaths in puffs
watching pee steam
in flashlight stream.
I wanted to be away
and I am away with you,
away with you
away with you.

stillness, silliness
coffee and soup

-Janet