Homesteading
Twice pushing past the edge
of urban mass
North on 281
Lured by coyoteıs song and hawkıs
solitary arc
Our rumbling, visceral hunger
for sheering vistas
Our windowıs hilly gaze
of oak and elm
Our peace,
Pursued by thousands.
Corporate grids of asphalt
graying green
Tedious rooftops multiplying in
manufactured sameness
Predatory machines roaring dominance,
devouring trees,
gouging the limestone hills.
And I begin to dream of an ancient aqueduct,
a slow green river,
the lacy mesquite shade on front porches
from another century,
South on 281