Murdock Valley

Relentless sun heats sage until a swirl
of hot air goes up the drain in a dust devil.

A vulture stops flying and glides around
the plume, tasting flavors from the valley floor,

a jackrabbit, four-wing saltbush,
a dried out deer carcass, the algae at Fish Springs,

a ranch hand wrapped in Irish Spring
riding a nasty old mule. The vulture grips

the rising heat and swirls into upper layers
where flavors ferment and mature,

where vultures have special dreams,
I ride a nasty old mule to Murdock Ranch

and give Sadie a taste of Irish Spring.
“You never,” she says, “cease to amaze.”