Wednesday, October 12, 2005


The water only stopped at dead-end streets,
rivers hidden beside valley slums
like convicts sheltered from the rain.

Traffic ran over the city
like flash-floods in the ocean.

I tried to see my future peeking out
like Cascades behind low-slung clouds.

Instead, I found a path
through pine forests mold-blue lakes
and icicle mountains dripping down
to red arches in Moab’s desert.

All that I made and divested of myself
shared the space of one car
with the hot pants and fur-flurries of cat and dog –
friendship strewn behind
like broken yellow lines leading home.

Summer 2002

No comments:

Post a Comment