Okanogan

Heat and pink gravel roads
Striped terraces of verdant green
Dreaming away lazy sun-drenched hours;
And patient old Punjabi women
At the counter of their make-shift fruit stalls
Sweat - a dark triangle between their breasts-
Eyes trailing the distant unfamiliar ridges.
Vines, overburdened, lean on the shiny steel strings;
Grapes in tart heavy clusters
Peek timidly from the whispering shade;
Erratic gusts
Bring in the smell
Of a myriad roses
Of lavender
Sage
And ripe, juicy peaches
In the dust
On the side of the wine country

Centinels

I wonder about the green lengthy dreams
Of the firs on the Cascadian slopes
What seest thou, from thy vantage point,
What knowst thou?
Centennial sentinel
Grim guardian of the forest’s teeming life
Watching unhurriedly
The eternal tides of sunrises and sundowns…
Pondering
The minute business
Of a squirrel
In your dark heavy branches
The noisome song of a flock of juncos, lion-headed, impatient;
The trusting innocence of a fawn
In the soft shadow, on his mother’s tail.
The timid flicker scratches your thick rusty skin
“Get rid of that pest, will you?” and “Yes, yes! And a little lower!”
The bear claws you, the brown Master, another guardian:
Respect and borders.
In spring sap in your veins, exhilaration of drunkenness
In summer, the stretching of limbs, golden slumber
And seeds ripening in heavy pointed pinecones;
In the fall - the wind, the rain and the wake for the departing birds
The children have grown, release them
Spider web faintly on the lips
The forgotten kisses
In winter, the rheumatic creaking of limbs
Jumbled letters of animal tracks in the snow
And long white coniferous thoughts
What knowst thou?