By Andrew R. Duckworth
The highway is quiet at daybreak,
A few semis between Albuquerque
And Santa Fe with the tires and
Engines echoing in the valley,
Mountains on every horizon.
The orange glow reveals a shadow
On the wire fence posts- a large
Bird lurking about as we fly by.
It’s the only ominous sign.
Valleys are described as beautiful
And treacherous and I haven’t
Yet determined which thought
I am supposed to lead with,
Yet this rugged land is perfect
In its imperfections.
Do I look at the wings
Of a lone raptor, claws ready,
And deny the valley brings forth
God’s glory?
Poetry and Essays of Andrew Ryan Duckworth 