The Devil's Slide
(for Frannie and Kim)

Once, before we learned to tame rock,
lay tar paths in straight lines,
men drove cattle through this valley.

We follow the bright ribbon
south and west while it wanders
to meet the road. Our tires 
clatter over loose shale.
We stop. Our breath mists
in thin, sharp air.

These mountains towered, old,
eons before hunters stalked
grazing herds across long seasons.

Light glances off glassy water,
amplified. Stones line the river.
I choose one.
It glows in my hand--
a live coal warmed by sun's breath.

Locked in stone,
dinosaur bones sleep
beneath this constant sky.

Along the shore pilgrims have piled
monuments. Some stand 
solid.  Some scatter 
beneath our shoes.
We make music as we walk.

The earth heaved,
shook, thrust liquid rock
up through fractured land.

I hold this small reminder
even as the road reclaims us.
Its faint imprint burned
in a callused palm.