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