Archive for nature poems

White Chief Canyon

A steep climb to the crushed cabin,
rusty litter of mining tools
under the trees, and the creek
in the pasture is rocky and dry.

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This evening we are awash in light.
It buoys the mountains as if they have finally
found their proper medium, their true home,

as if only now the peaks and ridges
and chaparral have come to the surface
and are free to look around, to take in air,
to catch us up in their respiration.

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Skunk Cabbage

I’ve seen it in the hollows of the Cascades in Oregon,
and head-high on the trail from Juneau up to the Icefield,
there to perplex
the pink mouth of a black bear.

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Red, White, and Blue

In early March, the toyon berries hang
in embers, fading under pale explosions
of ceanothus—a froth, a kindling,
winter offering itself to spring.

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