Redrock

Donkey, painted on the rockface
near the Watertown exit, by I-24 East
retreating
into erosion.
My brother always told me
that you were painted right before the tide came
or that you were a caveman's first revelation
or the result of a partifularly ambidestrous
dinosaur.
Whichever fit the remaining length.

I never asked you,
no when we took the highway instead
or when the "Save the Ass!" signs
(that I didn't make)
went up.
I never kissed away
your dust and placed
my ear against your redrock chest
listening for what you've heard about me
and the fatigue that must come
with being mysterious.