mr.mincemeat@syteka.UUCP (mr.mincemeat) (11/05/83)
I remember the way
To dance precariously the trail along the cliff
The dip there, that wash,
Cling to the fence now, step over space
Round rocks, below, river rocks;
The river is gone but they remain
Down there grey and waiting
So far below, it must be a mile
So far for falling
To bounce on those rocks
And lie soggy and red on the highway-
But today is for higher things
This trail has an end
A little field above the cliff
Rusting wire sags on charred posts;
And father in, past the ragged fence
The solitary half burned
Dead and lonely cottonwood
Barkless above the scorched grass;
White, white everywere
White among the black
The wood, the alkali,
Even the air itself, somehow
Catching something from the clean
Loneliness of the place:
The waiting calm of burnt out places-
On this cliff among the white
A transitory peace
Sprinkled with ashes.
mr.mincemeat
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