In the Making

what to make of these

buttery leaves

spread on giant cottonwoods

entwined in rusted barbs

downed fence

twisted hang

of broken

limbs

three crow make their own way

ever so slowly

over their muddy river

under their muddled sun

through their colors cheering

leaves

he knows

this is not a profound sun

celestial river

eternal spring

the wishful exquisite blues

he dreamt to be

no it is just the rhythmic lope

of his sorrel mare

her caramel mane freely flowing

his a smiling heart

in the making

JP Pestana October 9, 2016