the traffic migrates northward,
Somewhere it flows like a fast-motion glacier
Back to the south, crossing the bridges
Where even summer scatters in drizzle.
A log rots quickly under the cedars
Where names are forgotten, where little lingers
Except in the deepening soil of the forest,
Where stars show best in the chill of winter.
Where money’s an old ghost haunting the bankers,
Boys can be found still fishing the rivers,
Where houses molder and melt like toadstools,
Rainbows pale before clear-cut hillsides.
Give me the names of those cliffs and valleys.
Cobble a poem from a quiver of letters.
Cast me adrift in a craft of December.
Snow me an island. Rain me a mountain.
MASON is a Professor of English at Colorado College. His books include
The Buried Houses (Story Line, 1992); The Country I Remember (Story
Line, 1996); and his collection of essays, The Poetry of Life (Story