Manzano Mountain Review is an online New Mexico literary journal affiliated with UNM-Valencia.

Three Poems

by William Cordeiro

Hawk Hike
Above the barrel
cactus noonlight
 
lathers: hawks sail
over owl clover &
  
one fat bee fuddles
in a yellow bloom.
 
Sandstone bevels.
Day shrinks down
 
grizzling the valley.
Borage, dockweed,
 
Indian paintbrush
amid vinagaroons
 
& sieved skeletons
of cholla. Shadows
 
circle—a collared
lizard blinks away.
    

Boulder City
A coyote noses through a xeriscape
outside the Starbucks, sipping lattes

spilled on gravel. It lopes; it shadows
off into a cul-de-sac. One rusty swing

screaks—or is it the sound of pornos
filmed in nearby gated mansions? Sun

leaps upon each windshield, choked
freeway beside dancing dust in bare

dirt lots: a desert field till the horizon
filling-in with slapped-up track homes.

A halo light-shot above a dry lake.
At the city’s edge, a gallery of rock 

mocks water with a swaying vapor.
A calcium ring is an evident fallacy

where the dam’s been drained away.
Rotting factories rise up again from

this manmade sea. A crow bickers on
a Joshua tree. It suffers its own voice.

It sails beyond the bluffs and cliffs;
a sliver cutback of the river glints—

glints then dims. Pouring down an edge,
a distant valley jackpots thick with lights.

    

   
Snapshots: Faded Summers
    
I.

Specter

The wingbeats of a hawk
moth batted like an eyelash.
An outline blurred—it shocked
the pane and failed to trespass
broken light. It swiveled back;
                       
my own eyes widened where
it battered on the window-glass,
burned, blinked, and disappeared.


III.

Panama City

Oiled suds caress sand’s edge;
sun’s mesmerized through soot.
Royal towers rot with pigeons’
stains. Wrecks roil, almost mute.
Boys plunge in tidal sludge.

Steps crumble from huge vines,
which twist in iron, taking root. 
Sea’s veined with caravans.   

IV.

Glacier Bay

White gulls float on white fragments.
Salt water meets blue silt
beyond the glacier’s jagged
heaps ice ages built.
A shocking clap—it’s calved:

a broken face falls in.
Waves ripple out as icebergs melt.
Gulls scatter to the wind.


VI.

Herons

From high marsh grass a heron
rises, spreading wings,
as dusk glides over barren
flats. Another wends
then lands thin legs here on

the estuary’s shallows.
A moment’s narrow rush of wind,
twins quivered into shadow.
    

Will Cordeiro has work appearing or forthcoming in Best New Poets 2016, Blue Earth Review, Copper Nickel, Crab Orchard Review, DIAGRAM, Fourteen Hills, Nashville Review, Poetry Northwest, Phoebe, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Zone 3, and elsewhere. He lives in Flagstaff, where he teaches in the Honors College at Northern Arizona University.