The Santa Rita, as you all know, is directly south of town,
and if you go up to the tourist way, you don't see the brook.
If you go up the canyon, you not only see the brook,
but what you also see is an old mine there.
And other things as well.
"The brook has come down after so much trouble
from its watershed.
Ridges and molars circled with snow.
Hovering when we look up past noon--
swaying from the shadows--
trunks of pines.
Ferns we wade through for miles--
feeling with the toes of our boots
to fall on branches-- turning to mold.
Lightning losing its skin.
For the snakes that lie there, born from the timber,
keen for birds.
At the waterfall, boulders swell with the light
as we wave our sandwiches--
sit on our ponchos beneath the oaks-- rising
toward their definitions."