Hell\u2019s Canyon
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

Our helmsman steers us through the river gorge.
\n\u201cIt\u2019s quiet,\u201d he tells Terry and me as we chew
\nhuckleberry taffy, our \u201cwelcome to Idaho\u201d gift,
\nthough I can\u2019t say what state we\u2019re in right now
\nor if we\u2019re on the Snake or the Clearwater.<\/p>\n

Both waterways once taxied timber to the mills.
\nMen danced on rolling logs to sink hooks
\ninto the runaways. I imagine vigorous bodies,
\nbroken ones\u2014woodlands filled with extremes:
\nsilence and laughter; cruelty, song.<\/p>\n

Ter has kin from that logging past and I want
\nto re-read chronicles penned by his cousin
\nwho is often asked, \u201cDoes the whole world need
\nto know our business?\u201d\u2014as if books can outlast
\nthe petroglyphs downriver, or the wall of basalt<\/p>\n

on our right, columns shaped by cooling lava\u2014
\nhere angled, there stacked like lumber.
\nThe rock is peach-colored today, bleached
\nby a 45 s.p.f. sun. Our pilot turns the motor off
\nas we look left towards a sheltered beach.<\/p>\n

A dressed-up crowd faces the rock side of the river:
\na group pose\u2014their silhouetted cameraman stands
\nhip-deep in the current for a better shot. Or not:
\nhe lifts from the water a white-robed figure,
\narms raised. Terry\u2019s seen it before, but for me<\/p>\n

this is new. So\u2019s the scissor-tail swooping skyward
\nfor a decent view, and the mountain goat
\nup on the cliffs climbing at a clip to a ridge
\nwhere clumps of bunchgrass grow. It seems
\nthe billy likes his spikelets crisp, but not too dry.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Wayne, on His Wife Coleen\u2019s Eightieth Birthday
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

His ankles, his toes, announce themselves,
\nexpose their swollen state to all
\nwho enter this forty-foot RV
\nat rest in a sun-seared Arizona valley.<\/p>\n

Pudgy, but not really. A baby\u2019s feet
\nare pudgy, and this man is no babe.
\nWhat babe has viewed the Persian Gulf
\nfrom high atop a towering oil derrick?<\/p>\n

What baby\u2019s mind holds images of Saudi suqs
\nas well as fresh-turned Oklahoma clay?
\nWhat infant has wrestled alcohol to the mat
\nand pinned it, pinned it, pinned it?<\/p>\n

There is nothing infantile about this solid man
\nexcept the way he takes you in, absorbs you,
\ngathering up your syllables, each pause,
\nthe smallest nanogesture.<\/p>\n

But, unlike his great-grandson
\nwho gleefully re-discovers (<\/strong>every time)<\/strong>
\nthe blue balloon tied to his own plump wrist,
\nthis man brings ample life to all he sees:<\/p>\n

he knows more than the names for things, knows
\ntheir coloring, knows that autumn foliage
\nin this desert comes in two hues: \u201cGreen
\nand dead.\u201d And don\u2019t let him kid you,<\/p>\n

he catches every shade of green.
\nIf I hadn\u2019t seen him gazing at it first,
\nI might not have noticed the purpling
\nsky, its panoply of pinks! I accept<\/p>\n

this gift of livid eventide and wonder
\nhow I\u2019d nearly missed it; take
\nWayne\u2019s quarter-smile to mean:
\n\u201cIt helps to face the right direction, son.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Hell\u2019s Canyon Our helmsman steers us through the river gorge. \u201cIt\u2019s quiet,\u201d he tells Terry and me as we chew huckleberry taffy, our \u201cwelcome to Idaho\u201d gift, though I can\u2019t say what state we\u2019re in right now or if we\u2019re on the Snake or the Clearwater. Both waterways once taxied timber to the mills. Men […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2627","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2627","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2627"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2627\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2681,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2627\/revisions\/2681"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2627"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2627"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2627"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}