SHARK REEF

Sometimes the streets turn to memory
the cities imagine others
in that distance between words
between dream and reality
stories seeking refuge

The Airedale woke us, crashing and howling
against the door. John and I watched a coyote leap the fence,
its gold melting into the dark wood
and our hen a limp ribbon in its teeth.

The dog tracked scattered chicks

It’s still mosquito summer in the High Sierra
when we push up above 10,000 feet,
only Annie and me and a dryad
we come across tied forever to her foxtail pine.

She’s been sitting up here

“I’ll finally get to see Marilyn” were your final
perfect words. The last of the rose petals
faded decades ago, but your torch was so primal,
never flickered. What’s it take, then? What kind of metal
turns the dregs of life into a love like that?

If I encounter knife-edged voices
I will remember cool water running
in a strong stream
I will let the water be my voice.

If I encounter cold indifference