I. On the Forest Hill Divide
Light angling down a slope of sugar pines
And down the jagged sandstone rocks above the trail Makes all the air
Seem slanted–
As if their orange and twisted pink are piled
With gray from sun-edged clouds across the gorge, Sidelit by sunlight,
Puffed and deep with rain.
We tromp,
Middle-aged and puzzled
By the feel things have around our new
Fragility.
Sun on skin
And muscle-flex in booted legs
Bring warmth to bones in motion Still.
Yet the trail curves off into vistas
Flooding eyes and mind with distances–
As if the rocks and slanted sun
And scent of pines
Have turned us part translucent,
Modules of a light within
Passing to a light without,
Pale on pale, gray on green,
Slanted pink on moistened light,
Our bodies misting off to sheer perception–
As if we could lift
With the linnet’s feather dusted up
By our boots into a drift [no stanza]
Downwind.