Monday, May 28, 2012

Peace Like A River

I’ve got peace like the
South Fork of
the American River,
just off the highway
past the turnout
for the gas station—
the one with a totem pole
and an orange chateau, the café
where no one eats.

I’ve got peace like
crossing the squat, cement
bridge, like rolling
down my window
to smell organic air breathed
out of trees. Like driving
around the tree in the road—
the one with signs and names
of cabins past and families,
Of bumping down the hill.

I’ve got peace
like green metal siding
on a cabin clinging to the canyon.
Like bugs making pebble cocoons
before they emerge and molt. Like bug
bodies baking in August like death.

I’ve got
peace like shouting
into the roar. Like rock
under butt. Like cold
clear. Of fish. Like slick
stones and good ones. Like
islands that only appear in summer.
Like the smell of hot on rock.

Peace like Once you get to the rockslide, you’re almost there.
Peace like Hey, remember what the river used to look like before the flood?
Peace like Grandpa Don used to drink it right out of his hand.

Peace, like watermelons floated in the pool when the fridge is full.
Like bridges out of fallen trees.

Blue moths, paper thin.
Moonlight on granite.
Lizards, sunning.
Like hop.
Move west.


1 comment:

  1. One of my favorite places described so well!