| To A Fault
On the lam, off the
road
thirty-five miles
south of Hell
among stony outcrops
in the company of
hawks
The echo of a broken
record
óbegs
questions to please-God-stop
I canít love anything
but these thirsty
mazes
where faces lie
exposed
whispering history
over playas
spinning Badwater
legends with windy sighs
I stroll across the
Devilís bed
left slept-in and
rumpled, Iím
-h o p p i n g
over rills and washes
where jasper clasts
gather
My boot-heels snap
mesquite
sticks like hollow
bones popping
Armed with lodestone
and lead
I walk the fault
óringing my rock
hammer
off bedrock knobs
I chase the ancient
thorough time. Hunting
orogeny, my love
Obsession: a question
for the mountain
Melisande
Luna 2002
|