Saturday, June 27, 2020

The Hills Above Chileno

Crabs circumnavigate the globe
     On their native rock,
Where the tide foams in from other locales
     As a show of force
To move the pink-veined granite
     From its outpost,
It's stone claws gripping a surface
     Unresolved.

The royal Baja blue makes orphans
     Of these cliffs,
Where scrub and blackened cactus
     Keep to themselves
And the white-clad people wander
     Forsaken hills
Where wounds of ancient water
     Linger still.

But they're not alone, beside
     The desert of the sea,
Where sky-blue transparencies wriggle
     And smile at them,
And even the moon inhabits the sand,
     And the company of stars
Lord over them like an alien God
     Unknown commands

To be broken at the first snap of wind
     Down echoing ravines,
And even that is too much the sound
     Of muffled screaming,
Of a million sun-scored opinions,
     Each one the same,
The mass, the voice, the uncontained;
     What makes me alone.