Intertidal Zone

A sleepy afternoon
Before another storm,
The winds stalk the mesas

Like they’re browsing, maybe
Hunting for prey, maybe
Seeking out a bolthole

So they, too, can lie low
When the next snow bores through.
The hikers ignore them,

Happy on sunny trails
Or at least quick to seize
A holiday Monday

For some hours outdoors
While wars go on elsewhere
And none of the locals

Fond of their flags and guns
Are shooting anyone.
On a rock in the wash,

An unarmed gnome curls up
With a book and a phone
Between patches of snow

That have been in retreat
But will advance shortly.
It’s all tidal forces

However far inland
You hide, however small
You are. Tide’s out for now.