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Percheron Nambe Morning
—for Travis and Vaughan and all the St. Catherine’s Indian School kids dust, leaves twirling whirlpool up off road under wheels undercarriage automotive winds turning, lifting giving force to such delicate particles ends attached in former position to branch soft paper thin petal- like reds and golds much as the mane swings blows back from higher plane winds Percheron gold mane that red Percheron on the right the north side you’ve seen her in the early morning when it’s snowing she raises her dignity laughing at motorists distressed by ice and Pueblo patrol cars we catch in peripheral focus signal turn the halogens off and on on and off until they code the signal distress signal approaching tribal police traffic trap commuting the 35 mph racket through Nambe Pojoaque turn 50 Tesuque Bingo/Pull-Tabs long before the lodge turned stone near Camel Rock before the Congested Area in approach to the “City of the Oldest Catholic Church in North America” we convey these danger signs to local yokels perhaps even tourists if we’re in the mood consideration strange nation neither of us belong though we do stay in close proximity to these other Native peoples very different than where we come from still the same only sometimes though they know the patrol man he’s their cousin all of theirs they know this whirl these leaves rising now before our heated grill Chevy 4x ’91 they know the Percheron she steals the scenery easily with her laughter and turn pitching hoof and tail in mockery indispensable humor she takes this morning under gray the shade of nickel to cloud the stress enabling me to speak to you of beauty