NATURAL SELECTION, II

NATURAL SELECTION, II
—from Maggie Anderson's workshop

Desert willows guard the footbridge to another world

with a cacophony of graygreen leaves

while the honey locust spreads

its ordered palmate structure in lacy patterns.

California Fan Palm is rooted deep into the faultline

and grows as close as it can to the fire

where boiling water burbles out of the earth

while stinging nettles of the northern latitudes

lean into the perpetual shade on the cold bank

and remember an age of ice and perpetual winter.

But the datura of oblivion chooses

the wash of the desert wadi as its dream.

Maybe I should seek its counsel, or go mad.

Where am I today with one foot in each stream

I can't decide whether to stay or go

whether to write poetry or prose

Am I done with poetry or is it done with me?

I let the next thing to cross my path

guide me and offer instructions.

The first is a bluebird flitting after flies,

the other is a pileated woodpecker

jackhammering holes into the pulpwood

drilling deeper, do it again.

But the voices of both streams gurgle in unison

they offer no solace, no sage advice

nor do they drown the stinging words.

A red dragonfly bleeds against the thermal pool

algae plants itself in vermillion & verde

three cottonwood leaves float, sun yellow

a raft of two crow feathers eclipses them.

Murmur of voices in a room, a steady stream of words.

Fear of change keeps me rooted here.

The moment of change is the only poem.

Maggie says that exact moment of change

that moment when we're neither here nor there.

That is where the poem lies.

Maureen Hurley 9/7/2007

Warner Springs Ranch