Miniscule monsters rising from the tide
The stasis of the geese in flight
Rising just high enough to keep their breasts from brushing the treetops.
The two pairs of bluebirds giving me hope.
Their song stolen from them
As soon as it left their throats.
But they had somewhere to be and were going there together.
The bark ripped from the cottonwoods, hanging like scarves.
The lone heron choosing to stay despite it’s misgivings.
The desolation of this place.
The temerity of those who think they can transform
the Garden of Eden with foreign seeds and vicious annuals.
The cacti like so many grave markers for fallen pioneers.
The pattern of wind upon the lake
like schools of dark fishes who crash upon the shore,
resigned to their fate and their helplessness.
Colorado City
