For a full day after the kettle of Anasazi beans -- creamy white, cumulus whorls of terra red -- our heads were startingly clear, tireless, ranging at ease, happy, the good world cast in cool civil light, magnified in the quietest way: We smelled the chiles roasting miles to the north, heard the cattle far from the town, felt their heat, and long after midnight, giving up on sleep, walked out, under the box elder, tireless: calm skies, a moon like sugar in the mouth.
Merrill Gilfillan
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