—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