Autumn crisped sweet dripping Indian summer

Dusted the shirts on our backs

Oh Colorado-

The rolling patches

Wheat, thirst bread, fills

Like smoked remains of honey

A plumage; watercolor rust

Blues and dotted reds

Making love in the sky on melting mountaintops

Our muscles filled with acid halfway up

And we summitted, submitted our

Bodies to the wild-



Forestation, ancient language

Molds of a tribe,

We are the natives