The Gold Miner

Potato Creek Johnny
Waist high in Dakota hills
Builds snapdragon schooners
to race along the edge of loneliness
Leaves half his beard each Spring
For the birds to nest in

Seduced by the scent
Of fur, pine sap, leaf mold
He wanders to the river lip
His pilgrim eyes scan every bright spark
Coax from the pregnant flow
It's precious metal

Within an airless tent
He dreams of glittering vistas
Golden Spires of rock
Sun-shot