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 {ucbvax,hao}!{menlo70,hplabs}!sytek!toms