You grow up, and life is not the same old calliope ride.
Somewhere, in moon-bathed silence, a woman dreams of me
and neither of us know the other.
The days do not relent, they arrive and depart, madly
it seems. Does someone weep for you tonight?
The seasons do not relent, they swing you into the dance
where you grin, bewildered. We feel lucky if we have a fire to gather by.
We are bathed in color, we are sparkling rainbows streaming light,
and Nature loves us. But the years do not relent. We are tethered
like forlorn dogs. Will anyone fill our water dish?
We can not relent. Let us sing songs that soothe. Go on now, venture
down the path, let it grow dark with threat from every side. You are on your own.
Michael Knowlen is a Powderhorn Resident.