My grocery list seems
sliced by the plane’s wing
A thick haze settled over the mountain.
This dusty volume has contained
the same story for decades.
There’s a time when dusty
things are no longer useful;
The coins clinking into the gas lamp night after night. 

Please tell the jackrabbits my story- 
how we all evaded Coyote-
even the roadrunner,
who stayed to tell a few more jokes,
turned up his coat tails;
And the tiny cottontails
joined the cottonwoods and cattails
to float like fluff on the breeze.

The Raven children were here, too
In their shiniest clothes;
the number four constantly repeating itself.
Security, stability, relationships-
We’re inside the looking glass,
but will we recognize ourselves?
Or will the wind blow us all away?

Inside every story is the same story.