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!