A Courtship

I remember the great bear 
circling the blue night, 
the black juniper and no motion. 

Mornings we stretched 
our shirts over the fire 
and let smoke roll 
up our chests like wool 
and didn’t mind the soot. 

Then, she was rising 
through still water, 
spreading her body after 
on the bloodrock, the heat, 
the slow drumming of desert. 

Afternoons I walked shirtless 
beside her, turning the canvas 
of my back to the sun, the stone
of my forehead facing east 
to the Escalante, the Circle Cliffs,
and maybe the Henry Mountains. 

Those days were surprised doves
out of the thick sunflower, 
and long, long past, but still 

from the black hills 
of this place coyotes 
stretch their grey throats 
and moan down our walls.