We’ve come together this far –
the storm is done, but for the
leaking off hillsides, rivulets

turned clear in starlight
falling into a grumbling torrent,
cleaning house, reasserting

elbow room into the silt.
She is the last word, boss
in this canyon, come hell

or flood and we grin, admire
her spunk – not too old to buck
and run. Hope rides on gravity,

the equation of extremes
cut into this landscape
validated before us – and we pray

to all things wild for one last
tantrum, one last reason
to let her be before we go.

2 responses to “THE CREEK

  1. The more I read the poem, the better I understood it. I like it. The third time was the charm!


  2. Thanks for stopping by, Gaylon, and thanks for your persistence. These are fresh perspectives, often edited after posting. The original last line ‘to leave her alone before we go’ rang tritely, was too limiting and had too much ‘Oh’ for me, yet still remains a place for the reader to stumble. It’s a mediocre piece, posted primarily in the spirit of a journal, reflecting since Christmas, the sad events on the Santa Margarita Ranch I just can’t shake.


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