Poems for Eagle Lake - Pine Pitch on my hands

pine pitch on my hands

bright and sweet, 

potent and clean as mint

the whistling tips of white pines

outstretching the first to the sierra sky

teasing the chipmunks with hanging fruit

toasting needles on white rock

perfuming the hillsides

Vanilla steeped and clean

flowing with the breezes

in and around the Juniper crags. 

Quaking Aspens slow the pace

of land so big that sound escapes

in clear water, reflections of a violent past laid to rest

in peaceful and powerful moraines

Fire, Ice, Water and Time

Getting Granular

getting granular 

into the data we dive

buried in the bits 

covered in bytes

Mila, Mega, Giga, Tera

we are gathered here to marinate 

compress and defrag errors

exchange stories about our kids

in corrupted files from floppy drives

we find the tender and soft memories 

of some of the first to play 

like a snapshot of geology,

an unanswered fax in the night

a volcanic event 

and a the first slug to talk

who needs a second to hear.

 

Its not often

its not often that we connect

and before long it seems we drift

on the wings of happenstance

forgiving our transgressions

where does it take us 

and where have we been

through the evolving perspective of change

slipping through changing landscapes

expecting to see what we have before

around the unexpected corner

unfamiliar barrios with shops that open and close

unrecognizable people who age, grow old and die

threads of attachment run through memories of what has been

threads as strong as thin wire

cutting through hands that desperately grasp