Percheron Nambe Morning

—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