Monday, October 24, 2011

"Squab Jays and Scrawllows"

Cats'-cradles of contrails, dozens of them,
Weave the only clouds over the valley
This evening. Otherwise it's all blue sky
Rimmed by cliffs so picturesque you've seen them,
Or something like them, in films or motels.

The sound of the creek competes with the road,
The junipers compete with prickly pear,
Cold beers in a camp-chair compete with words,
A sun-warmed cairn competes with a  cold hearth,
An idea competes with a memory.

A memory is never singular.
The nominalization of memory
Must always be a kind of common lie
Occasionally raised to proper tale
Of how something happened as it didn't.

Or it did. You can't beat competition
For arriving at a kind of winner.
It's impossible to tell a story
Without some part of it becoming true
Once any part of it gets repeated.

Birds skitter past, below blurring contrails,
The only clouds over Castle Valley
This evening. Otherwise it's all blue sky,
Purpling as the sun sets behind the Rim,
So picturesque, you've seen it. Someone has.

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