canyon fog

Fog settles like an old brood mare

and a single Raven cuts the air

with its shriek.

Has it really only been a week

since you died,

or 10 lifetimes? I’ve cried

enough for the whole of this life.

The wind, the rain, the rattling leaves,

everything sings Wife;

everything grieves.

a poem by Red Hawk from the first issue of Deep Wild: Writing from the Backcountry.

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