On Proctor Valley Road 

Nothing is missing here on this dusty

washboard road, potholed, scraped

clean of vegetation, mountains rising 

left and right, sun pouring heat and light 

onto everything in sight, mid-afternoon 

there’s no need to speak, senses alert, 

nourished by place I kneel in dirt, 

one eye out for hawk another 

for rattlesnake, then suddenly both spy

the fattening moon above a distant ridge 
on this, nature’s feast day, a gift 
bridging my body my mind to ease 
and quiet exploring in moments 

of sweet stillness surpassing 
all understanding.