Ravine

Stopping to catch my breath on a switchback,I run my fingers along the leaves of a yucca:

each blade curved, sharp, radiating from a core—in this warmest of Novembers, the dead

push out of thawing permafrost: in a hugeblotch of black ink that now hangs, framed,

on a wall, Gu Cheng wrote the characterfate, and a woman shrugs, "When you look

at me, you're far away." Last night, gazingat Orion's belt and sword sparkling in the sky,

I saw how we yearn for connection whereno connection exists: what belt, what sword?

Glancing at boulders in the ravine, I spota flock of Steller's jays scavenging along

the ground; I scavenge among pine needlesto breathe into flame, gaze at yuccas

whose blades collect dew at dawnand at dust floating in sunlight above the trail.