INTRUSION
The road wound up the mountainside; we saw
The dust suspended in the quiet air.
Some lay in poppies’ pleading cups as if
When dew is asked, a dross may still suffice;
And some made ecru ruching round and round
The lacy frills of countless little leaves.
The firs looked bravely up, but all their leaves
Drooped slightly down from sympathetic twigs.
And then we reached the top. A coolish breeze
Dried our faces, turned madrone’s mien
To dark and light. Below us far we saw
A sea of cloud, the billows piling high,
Each nudging each as if politeness said
That some must go to leave the others room.
But when politeness’ little game was played,
They kept the rubbing-shoulders status quo.
And now we spiraled down, from bright to gloom;
The spidery wisps threw sprinklets as we passed.
And then the giant’s lupined mantel ringed
With briny grass. We found him sleeping there,
His vast, unlidded eye the darksome glass
Of mists pulled up between him and the sky.
We bowed our heads in genuine accord,
And left with scarce a single spoken word.
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