I’ll Go Like Jim Harrison
Uncorked red and pen in hand,
good eye in fever pursuit, fresh pack
of smokes cracked at the ready,
the day’s shower not yet needed.
Spruce grouse flushed from melted
hills turned creek, summer speckled
trout belly, pen trekking deeper.
Wolf scats further up off the trail,
sun talking to the unseen moon
under cone flower, blue vervain,
butterfly weed, sundrops, shy
black-eyed Susan, the woman who
left alive in vein thistle. Venison
marinating in merlot, shallots,
field asparagus, wings of northern
mushroom bloom in iron pot,
more wine in the cedar pantry,
nothing in the world beyond now.