Continual mind movies reel past
as language sequesters. I paint
Gabriel’s voice.

Mix red & black to birth
brown & he speaks. I feel
turtle shell. I hear

the opening & closing
of a chimney flue. Tom Waits.
My hand explores the rugged

surface of a ranch
fence in Wyoming. Prairie
scrub & wide open

horizon smell like a sprig
of wild asparagus & a rushing
creek. A ranch hand in faded

denim is silent. The thud
of cattle hooves like staccato
from a cello. Add more blue

to the brown, which gives
a hint of purple to his voice
& the smell of cracked egg.