walkabout

i wander through loamy earth
and listen to thunder bombs.

footprints in top soul.
i look back -- just once--
to check for reality.

the dogs scatter ahead,
sniffing, as i move my
searchlight this way and that,
looking for what has departed on walkabout.

childhood sighs
of womanhood stretched ahead
now bring a sense of frantic kinetics
and loss.

i sweep left to right
look and look again,
consult the shaman,
and hunt for the blood
which should seep under my feet
like oil from sand.