By Kate Gray

When sunrise caps
the scrub oak, and Kingbirds lilt
their whit on high limbs, and
through cheat grass, my dog
zigzags after deer
long gone, I swan-dive
into the view from my bedroom.
My fingers combing needles
of fir and spruce filling the valley, I soar
into blonde meadows and plunge
into the Columbia River, ribboning
through blue hills.
Today is the day
I pound like a Pileated Woodpecker
and flaunt my crown
like a majorette summoning drummers:
I made it here, made it
here, lived to see

Kate Gray is the author of three poetry collections and a novel, Carry the Sky
and is currently working on a new novel set in the McCarthy era.
Kate is also a writing coach.