Last Summer Day Alone in Zion

I tell no one, but I keep meaning
Never to come back. Why, I can't say.
It's a perfectly lovely small town

In a mostly rich and peaceful land,
Proud of grandiose geology,
The kind of place people strive to reach.

And then, here I am again, thinking
How unlikely it is that I'll be
Back here, at least in this condition,

Ever again. I struggle to mow
The lawn leaning hard on my crutches.
I look up at the Watchman, red-faced

At sunset, the glow of a million
Artfully posed tripod photographs.
I love this place. It doesn't belong

To me or any incoherent
Mythology, save the redolent
Dream of escaping from what we love.