My koan waits
unsaddled, unbridled
tied to nothing.
I mount and ride
out of the map
into a tangle of stars.
Currents of grass
move through me,
and the scented rain.
I peer through snow
dust, fire, tornadoes,
into the vulture’s eye.
Suns stampede
cantering through me
in my thicket of bones.
My koan whisks away
flies and words
finally, itself.
Alone on the prairie now
sod to cut
a well to dig.