Jenner

Where the Russian River meets

the sea, searching authenticity

in a cowboy western town

wayside weeds are crowding

one fossil car, hard slumping

missing doors and gaping,

growing through the trunk

a volunteer to sunlight, one

gaunt locust sprung from chance

the car was quite immobile

another Calistoga ghost.

Arid seasons don’t pass gently

here the tree yet shades hard pan

the while the metal rots

and rodent squatters nest

quietly small shadows out of sun.

One pauses, contemplates

a photo of this sin.

Some see past their fading

to impart a love, implant a bloom

amidst the dryness while others

– take the driver seasons past

who left the wagon shouting

over one wing he’d be coming

back with bags of yellow happiness.

The hulk was long past time when

folk folded in its backseat

for a bit of fun and poking

to carry them away.

Gould’s accidental god

repeats the proof before us:

life is precious where it’s found

beyond us like the locust

pretending what my camera sees

is more than framed acceptance

rheumy resignation.

From Love in Winter   Missing Ryan