Having been lulled by the river

I rock in a constancy,

the heart rhythm, ancient.

I grow horns, smooth and sharp.

Being on the Yampa River again and again

I am tuned to the deepest pattern, the Nous

The presence of all,

the body permeable.

The mind empty

the community not mine but all.

There and now,

see through me – you can.

My lost shirt is the forest or the water

I’m already a ghost,

spirit bound as much as flesh.

I am the canyon wall, the water moving,

bird and bush.

Just call me Big Horn Sal!