They Say Wyoming

The sky is calling to the earth, as light,

As rain, as lightning on the blackening hills.

August is giving way. In the air and streams

The knowers, bending the season in their bones:

The chilling shout of the great sandhill cranes,

The brilliant cutthroats under the surfaces-

I, too, am water: In this revery

"The snowy earth comes gliding," the old men

Sang as they dreamt the buffalo. And now

He stands there, in that meadow. Ice and snow

Breathe in these pines. They say, "We live again."