Snow Field

I saw it in morning half light

White and gray fluorescent bright

At the birth of day.

The colorlessness of death lay

On each rise and bend

As if night had drained

The blood away from earth

And left unreal bleached bone dust

Between black stakes and crosses,

On one great gaping skull.

But as I watched death’s face —

Morning moved a little in her waking

And the sage brush tops

Caught a faint tint of gold

And earth began again to breathe