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Poetry
June Utah Evening
Rose rock. Creamy cloud. Desert hush
telling somebody I'd all but forgotten
just who he really is. Through manzanita bushes
and buckthorn, evening sun -- low and level --
reveals every leaf's a translucence
till the whole canyon rim glows:
one bush-stippled smear of green gold.
And my own murmur surprises, saying
as if into still air, "I'm home. " Two words.
Only those.
-- Reg Saner

2 a.m. Moon
If it were the Eucharist, it'd be hard to swallow,
this moon of lost impressions, a boy in deep water,
something tickling his skin. He remembers warm
liquid he floated in before, this memory of buoyancy --

It is a round kite that somehow still manages to hang
in the inky blackness of the sky. A medusa jellyfish,
a paper cutout of the moon. Blemishes and all.
Or is this a savior's moon? Tranquil though expectant,

that this boy will float on home, or be swallowed
by eternity's water, serve some higher purpose.
Through the pines and mangroves, this moon hovers.
It is the one eye of God that remains open just in case.
-- Virgil Suárez












OnEarth. Summer 2003
Copyright 2003 by the Natural Resources Defense Council