“Kaibab”

We drove through the Navajo Reservation

And the Hopi Reservation.

I told you about the old peach orchards

Nestled in the canyons

And the soldiers who destroyed them.

Snow came, and ice.

The dog refused to pee

Though you clucked and murmured to her softly.

Shadowy elk bloomed up in the cold trees

And then shrank away.

Betrayal, but an old one, and not clear whose,

Froze the air between us.

It babbled for understanding through our mouths

Until I was howling at your driving form.

A brown bird took flight at the trees’ edge.

The bird became antlers that pulled

an elk wild-eyed across the road.

We slept in the car among small pines

Tiny dry snowflakes crackled on the roof.

Your heat warmed my skin and I pulled away sweating.

Morning shattered still and diffuse

Your footsteps creaked away

Whispers of regret shivered the blankets

But I, still a pillar of ice—

Oh touch me.