Groan

Dawn at the Klamath,

a twelve point elk struts among deer mossed stumps

as the Yurok's golden bear guards the new bridge,

already under repair.

After practicing my chaplain ID smile

in the rearview mirror,

I  receive the nod of the flagmen 

and renew my drive to prison.

In a few miles, the forest,

and the mountains too,

will give way to thousands

of cement blocks,

and light, not the yellow sun streaming through

redwoods and firs, will blink

florescent as the state budget allows.

Its the most natural thing in the world, poetically,

politically, to ignore caged humans in these parts

and laud wild animals,

but quit the ignition, and listen at the gate;

all creation groans

for the re-birth of our sons doing time.

Lend an ear to the wilderness crying

from a housing unit

never meant to be called home.