12:00 noon

Strangely wonderful it is
to bike this path
through eastern Arizona
without a belonging
to say my name.

5:30 p.m.

Crow at my back,
cattle in the creek meadow
and wildfire beyond the ridge—
is Snyder
still
in the lookout tower?

6:30 p.m.

Mountain bluebird,
buffalo, and perhaps
an angel below
the roadside cross—
her death came like rain.

8:30 p.m.

Sunset on the red-orange rocks—
so this is what Abbey saw.

A bike path leads to nowhere—
into the mouth
of Bryce Canyon,
a full moon rises.