What you call to mind
When you picture things,
When you try to see
The world you can see
Wholly in your mind—
A long horizon,
Someone being still
In harsh, desert light,
A washed-out film still
You’d fill with longing
And satisfaction
For lonesome feeling
If you could, when you can’t—
That’s the world where you
Put down your reading
And dream of walking
Like someone who walks
And walks, which you don’t.
All they ever wanted
Was not to have to fear
And not to have to move
When they didn’t want to,
If they didn’t want to,
Not to have to matter.
But with no threat of death
In the immediate
Sense, they were contented
To check into the cheap motel
That had nothing but clean
Sheets, air conditioning,
And a bolt for the door
To make them feel secure.
They didn’t watch TV.
The clock radio served
Well enough to read by.
When it wasn’t too hot,
They sat out by the pool.
The stucco was peeling,
And the concrete was cracked,
And the freight trains rattled
Over some unseen tracks.
They could see the mountains
Over the low rooftops,
And they had enough cash,
You know? They lived like that.
Rockfall from the Watchman
Just before 4am,
An uncanny crunching
Under the Harvest moon—
If a mountain falls down
And harms no one, does it
Mean a thing? There’s constant
Crumbling you don’t always
Notice in the surface
Of this mostly static-
Seeming canyon landscape,
Little fractures daily.
Only rarely humans
Suffer for it, as when
The couple in Rockville
Were crushed watching TV
On their sofa, flattened
Under truck-sized boulders.
Humans blow mountains up,
Of course, tear into them
Like so much cake to eat,
And this desert southwest
Is pocked with carious
Copper mines and coal pits.
But matter stirs itself
As well, and will not stop,
No matter what you do.
