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Psalm Above Santa Fe
--------16 March 1987

What is it we
---------come to
----------------between mountains,

long crests tipped white,
---------dusted on their flanks, while
----------------light spreads out

before us,
---------pouring in our lap
----------------soft as iris tongues,

and
---------the lungs finally
----------------filled with freshness

unwilled
---------because unlooked for:
----------------sparse grass,

rocks
---------announcing in a weathered language
----------------something eyes

seem to have known
---------before they came to the way
----------------called sight.

Even the animals at dusk,
---------could we see them stare at us,
----------------have such souls.

-John Judson, 1987

Add to the list of books I have been reading: Kurt Vonnegut: Letters, which offered the following relevant quote: "For me, poems are presents to be exchanged within an extended family." I've wondered about the strict legality of Wednesday poemday, since I'm reprinting without permission. But I make no profit from this; but good poems seem to benefit from being passed around.