"August 15"

A spangled highway curves through branches.

Between two hills on a gravel road,


It finds the parking lot.

Afoot on the trail, the hot sun broadens.
We exit the forest into a meadow


So fecund it smells sweet and heavy.
Person-high underbrush droops in the path,
Brushing, scraping our legs.

A bear-sized dot barely moves far above us,
Two thousand feet up on the carpet of green.

Its paws must bat flies from its warm furry face
As we do from our red sweaty noses.

I’m glad that the bear is so far from our passage,

But I wish I could see it more clearly.

We summit the mountain, which, glacially carved

With blocks of profound geometrics,
Resembles a stone god’s early art project.

Chasms of granite fit right into scale.


I leverage my arms and descend,

Touching my feet to the bottom,

Chasm filled with dirt.
Standing inside it is easy,
Hugged by walls snug and shady.

Up here, see freely in every direction.
Valleys to peaks, and the slopes in between.

A stately white range encircling,
Dignified beyond all compare.
No rumors persist in this thin atmosphere,
Finally everything's fair.