"Death by Bureau of Land Management."

He was kicked out, stumbling, blinded by a setting sun.

A broken stranger, in search of a broken home.

His crime never explained, torn from those he loved.

Locked away, imprisoned in a flat land with its choking dust.

Up the canyon, next to a spring, he would take his rest.

Easing his road sore feet, in its mirrored shallows.

What comfort that could be accepted, was given.

His search became routine, his presence marked the week.

Then, one fall morning, bright and clear, his quest came to an end.

The tractor trailer never had a chance to stop, or swerve.

I have often thought in the following years since, that even a

Horse can know dignity, and despair.

"Camino de Los Estrella"

My Uncle Mario sat with me under an October's cobalt desert sky.

He sang to me songs of the glorious stars.

Love's tragic loss, of a hero's glorious end.

The purity of a good life lived.

How a northern star illuminates the dance of seven little angels.

As they chase one small dolphin, across the sea celestial.

Falling stars, tell us that the old gods yet still live.

Showering us in silver, and gold waterfalls of their love.

A milky ribbon points the way to our inner soul, allowing us to

examine the eternal.

Hand in hand, callused, and soft.

We sat, and watched the stars, and their grand paseo around the

vault of heaven.

 Hello, my name is David S. Baker. I write most of my poems on-line, signing my work DS Baker. I am forty years of age. I was born in Santa Fe, New Mexico, raised in the baking heat of the Mojave and Sonoran Deserts. I am married, and a father to one precocious little daughter. I try to document my land and its people before they are plowed under a developer's housing tract.  Fencing photo below.