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By chris Date: 2007 Mar 03 Comment on this Work [[2007.03.03.12.49.961]] |
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spring came early then three days of wind cold enough to freeze all of our reasons so finely wrought like music wrestled at the greatest possible cost from the well of history and memory and pain - durable and deep and inexhaustible now two hours after sunset the transmission tower blinks like a heat mirage high on top of the watermelon mountain - now nearly snowless on this side - the desert below so like a sea and from just the right vantage point you can see the cars cresting west central avenue - old route 66 - like a caravan trekking across brightest morocco and the wind still blows the warmth having not quite arrived and it sings it sings to everything yet alive: the broad-winged bird silent and hidden til morning, you, me, the drivers of the cars - tiny moving islands of light - seeking oases relentlessly like thirsty pilgrims like so many ships at sea |