Here's the poem I read Thursday --
Skyline Sailing
After thousands of years,
These hills still rise like swells
Against decrepit shores.
Mountains depart valley
On a voyage toward skies
Shrouded gray.
Where I walk
Was once under a sea
Of ice and glacial silt.
Now there are only troughs --
Spring-fed, green
And limed.
Below, creeks and rivers
Of water
And asphalt.
Here, islands of weathered wood --
Rotting boxcars
Immobile homes.
Cattle and erratics dot the scape
Like small ships at the edge
Of the world.
At morning, chickadees cry warning
From the chokecherry trees
And deer periscope
Above undulating grasses.
Night, eyes become
Phosphorescent beacons.
Sirens and coyotes ring out
In glee.
In this cabin,
I am both anchored
And adrift,
An inconsequential vessel.
I look out through polished glass;
My tides ebb and churn.
These moorings could come loose
At any moment.
But these hills will go on
And on.
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