Poem

La Contenta (for Steve and Darlene
Lester)



October,
2004 transformed to October, 1958.
When
I was ten years old, blood red scarlet leaves
Of
falling maple in Indiana and I hiked along
The
Little Calumet River, already polluted,
But
the forests were haunted by hobo camps,
Indians
and the hot blood of young lovers.
In
the distance I could hear the wild chugging
And
the churning plume of white hot steam billowing
From
a coal black locomotive–maybe I only dreamed
Of
this dark dragon of energy but the phantom train
Fueled
my imagination like no other living thing.
I
thanked the powers that made me for the gift
Of
being lucky to be alive to such possibilities.
Tower
of Strength, blazing shooting stars
Over
the spiky Joshua Trees that are like Grecian columns
That
hold up the heavens and row after row after row
Of
mountains and their gathered mists.
Tower
of Strength, sidewinders, cold-blooded, slither
Across
the sunlit path on rocks that shine like diamonds in the daylight.
In
your eyes, in your eyes, the virgin smoke
Of
a thousand locomotives, Heaven’s Harps, immense distances,
Blazing
azure, salmon-pink, and an always lemon light blanketing
The
entire widening, hawk-hovering horizon.
Tower
of Strength; do not be sad when you leave a home,
Mingling
out there with the slayers of the night.
Journey
to all the welcome places, the passing aromas
Of
creosote, mesquite, and juniper and your arrival at a place
Not
marked on any map.
Journey
into that unknown region
You
finally call Home.