The mourning dove’s call woke me

In the still night, when it was still night

To me. Those sounds came from a time

Before the box radio, even, and they said,

A man is walking alone down the canyon.

There’s a baby lost. I saw my dead father

Last night near the cottonwood grove.

The mourning dove’s story, so lonely

In the morning, is a tale of water. It says:

Remember that the cool egg is waiting

Still on the floor of the swift river,

And my calls will bring it forth.

Then this world of taxes will disappear

And you’ll be with your mother again.