Silver and Blue

Blue and silver so intense

They hurt the eyes—bare silver

Cottonwood branches under

Piercingly winter-blue skies.

It’s fine to breathe as a beast

With lungs to take in this air,

With all the social insects

Off being busy somewhere,

Too barren this afternoon

For foraging around here.

Even the cattle and deer

Wander off in search of grass.

Quarrel not in the city,

The cuneiform pillars read,

Go not to places of strife.

They had advice already,

Then, three thousand years ago,

And notches to store it in.

Who took it? A few hermits?

People love towns and cities.

All the fine, fun stuff is there.

Only the landholding rich,

The unfortunate peasants,

Said hermits, and the dragons

Find themselves, on days like these,

Beguiled by silver and blue,

As if life were easy here,

Easy to breathe as a beast

With lungs to take in this air,

Places of strife all elsewhere.