of the East, and the West

the woods can make us forget

here in the East

the forest can make us forget,

it can blur the lines of the land

like how snow rounds away the sharpness of shape,

curtains drawn across whatever is happening,

each individual tree a blur

that shades softly into the whole,

a whole which compresses space into just what is nearby,

out West revelation is brash,

geology right up in your face,

mountains abrupt and intimidating,

and the rock so full of memory it groans,

clarity erupts in front of you,

eagle and bear and bison out there to see,

even the elusive wolf and otter possible to find,

back East the world is more repressed,

rocks and their tales mostly hide away,

large mammals equally secret about their lives and adventures,

high summer has the dreaminess of the lotus about it,

spring shouts of newness and hope,

fall has the grace of memory and resignation,

winter can be bracing and clear,

revealing what’s beneath the leaves, like a x-ray,

now we can sleep, even while we’re awake,

and delude ourselves that the world is only what is nearby.

by Henry H. Walker

July 25, ’13