The pikas shrill from their hay mounds;
the dry shift of the stonefly pounds
across that laboring lake of air.
the dry shift of the stonefly pounds
across that laboring lake of air.
holding the sky to our face like a mirror,
the lakes and the forests behind us. Turn
and the line of the sun swivels and whips
and burns against our fingertips:
slow down, give ourselves time to earn
the meadow silence above the trees,
slow down, give ourselves time to earn
the meadow silence above the trees,
the shivering blood in our unsteady
knees;
we came to the high country quick this year.
we came to the high country quick this year.
This is another of your poems that I can feel from head to toe. Had to look up stonefly. Insects have their own peculiar beauty. Thank you for so generously sharing your poetry for all these years.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, am! xoxo
ReplyDelete"shivering blood in our unsteady knees" so much heart there! And what a finely crafted line!! (and poem)
ReplyDeletehttp://www.nrmsc.usgs.gov/research/lednia
ReplyDeleteI came here by accident and I am glad to read your poem... very fine
ReplyDelete