Lines

by Judith Ann Muse Robinson

Planned community.
Ears up. Eyes wide. Whitetail deer.
C.V.S. ahead.

Spanish Skirts of the Palo Duro

by Judith Ann Muse Robinson

Crenelated strip, stitched to crenelated strip.
Repeat. Azure. Lavender. Maroon. Draped
against these flaring walls. Abandoned. as if
shed by spinning, dancing angels of the Llano
Estacado – on-ramp to Sangre de Cristos,
northward to the Rockies. Levitation courtesy
– not of wings – but of whirling, twirling
Spanish Skirts. Set afire! Vivified by dawn’s first
peek above the eastern rim. Hems pooling
in Red River waters of creation.

In their plunge, vaulting cliffs conceal seamed pockets.
Tiny caves. Comanche shelter. Rising mesas split
the downdraft to whistle through the maw, like blades
of grass held to blowing lip. Swishing moccasin shod
foot travels time astride an ancient echo. Turkey scrabble
in mesquite. Rattle of maracas? No! Beware! The rattler’s
tail. Bleat of restless, shuffling aoudad competing for
siesta sun. East-wall clinging Spanish Skirts live short
on time. An early inky dome of night pierced by one hundred
thousand stars as if to ignite the whirling, twirling Llano
Estacado specters to take flight.

Superluna

It's very nearness changes who I am.           
--after Sarah Harwell "Super Moon"

by Judith Ann Muse Robinson

Dark dome of night. Split. Ablaze
at the clerestory. Buona sera,

Superluna of the blood. Welcome. Rest
awhile within our brimful nest

of empty opulence. Creation holds ephemeral
residence enough for you. Clever

hangs its head beneath Niagara's
tongue turned sifting whisper

of Sahara's shifting sands. Distant river
ice explodes a scent of new-mown hay.

Fleshing-out begins of sclerotic bones. Rudder
lost. Dam-breaking floods

expose dry riverbeds draining smelted ore
of sword and shield.

Babble becomes anthem. Becomes
lullaby. This palsied foot taps Tango.