Old Dogs of Taos

Old dogs of Taos
sleep in the shade of the cracked clay house, dozing under sunshine under old stone bone road clouds.

Old dogs of Taos
pant in black, grey, and brown woven furs from ground, lying wide-eyed with dry tongues heaving and half rolled out.

Old dogs of Taos
follow tote bag Foreign crowds, cracked tongues in doubt –– readying for danger, they duck their necks to sniff out the town.

Old dogs of Taos
drink from the clear stream songs of ancestral grass sounds, the same red streams that saw strong proud war mouths drown.

Old dogs of Taos
roll their tongues to cool their dirt summer snouts –– they look to the worn cool mountains to which they are bound.

Old dogs of Taos
chase the single one down, as each of their tails flail and fan the ground –– thunder across the mounds, she barks and chews them out, furious and loud.

Old dogs of Taos
dream off wounds –– together they sleep in shade under clouds, dozing off sunshine in the long shadow of the old earth house.