PAISLEY, OREGON
Lake
is a misnomer in Modoc country.
Goose, Summer, Silver,
just names
and
as barren as deserts.
The
outback, they call it,
where
the threat of rain
is
their oldest fossil
and
the fable we landed in
one
night.
In
the dark, slick as snakes,
with
sulfur on our skin,
we
ran blindly for shelter,
the
wind, a dragon at our backs.
Somewhere
in the morphology of the night
we
found Faith, wine and dice
and
a gratitude that curled inside us like a teardrop
we’d save for the next pilgrimage.
Here is a similar one of mine, called
ReplyDeleteLassen Campground;
The sign says this campground is closed.
Well, it is rather late in the year.
The steel poles upright in the pavement
Doesn’t do much to bar our motorcycles
It’s ten PM, cold rain is starting to fall
We pop our two tents and don our ponchos
The firewood stacked for next season moves
Us to build a fire between the tents
In our saddlebags, we found brandy
Not yet sleepy, we stand around the fire
Shifting our weight from foot to foot
Trying to think of a joke funnier than
The old saw one of the girls has told
“The firewater’s all gone,” someone says
“We might as well turn in,” I say.