“It’s not like art where you’re trying to look
Like something. You’re trying to do something,”
Daughter said by way of explaining the difference,
As she saw it, between merely drawing and sketching.
The day before she had ridden through a canyon
On horseback, her first real ride, single file,
Ahead of her father and right behind the guide.
She hadn’t been trying to look like something.
She had been trying to do something, to look
For lizards, check, tarantulas, check, and coyotes,
Check, although she missed the one chuckwalla.
She had been trying to sit correctly, keep her feet
In the stirrups, and be good to the mare under her.
Now she wanted to make sketches, not just to draw,
But although she caught the winsome angle
Of a long-haired girl’s windblown approach
To a high, rock and pine horizon, she couldn’t quite
Capture the moon as it looked at the end of the ride.
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