Leviathan
Language is a leviathan,
vast as ocean-sea;
we splash,
we splash upon the surface,
dip a little in;
we are carried,
we are carried regardless,
swept away,
we add shape,
we add some shape,
a little wave,
but it is sea,
but it is sea in sublimity,
older, mightier,
infinitely more dangerous,
infinitely dangerous to us;
we may play God,
but we cannot impose,
we cannot impose our will;
it shrugs it off.
We can only propose,
we can only propose and supplicate,
and perhaps
our wavelets matter.
Summer in the Judith Mountains
Shushing wind on hill and pine
makes trees to sway in solemn dance;
the twisting creek is flowing by
where gold is struck by happenstance.
The summer sun is warm and clear
but gentle rains in hurried rush
drop a kiss or two in time
and leave, and leave the world in hush.
The squirrels are scolding from the branch,
the deer are peering, forest-hid,
the bears are searching through the trees
and doing as their fathers did.
A scent of smoke and sunscreen hangs
with bug spray's intermingled smell
by cabins built by human hands
whose quiet secrets none can tell.
Wind is shushing pine and hill,
the breezes play on steep and vale;
they hustle, toss, and stand stock still,
then buck again like sudden gale.
A heavy scent, a sunlight scent,
rolls down from mountain-top on high;
the sky is bluer than a dream
in paints that neither fade nor die.
