Yokohl Creek

Dusk on the open road
Dust and haze that linger
Oranges and roses
Hue the countryside

Wheels strumming along
To the grooves of the sliding guitar
Slick and guttural
As the lines of the floating classic

The dog days of summer
In the August sunset that thrives
And the heat waves that beckon
The call of migrations

All this movement along the surface
Wisps the clouds up on high
Golden rose in their flames
Toast their goodbyes

No particular time frame
Enjoying the means not the end
As the hills tumble along
Parting for oak shadings

Some barren but for grasses
As if only for sunshine and herbs
Dry as the ridges
As waves in the deserts

Oh how they roll by
As we float through on fumes
Of flaming nostrils
And churning combustions

A little sideways departure
On the way to the ranch
Of American dreams
As the vultures circle round

Thoughts of supper pending
Ribs and tips on the spits
Bacon and beans that drip
Fresh from the stocks

A rumbling through the canyons
Can be heard by those awaiting
Over the twangs of the slides
And the harp's sharp buzzings

Smoke from the oak
And the fat that drips
Send their scents aloft
Drenching the ranch lands

Hot August nights
And cold libations that coat
And sweet melons that sweat
Dripping with freedom