Descano, California
The rich, black humus, airborne, glimmers gold,
gray granite boulders softly wrapped in moss
beneath the dusty light of oaks as old
as California. Creeks just right to cross
with one wide leap and lined with cottonwood,
river stone chimneys, an abandoned bridge
which finally lost its lumber in the flood.
Manzanitas bend beneath the ridge,
the muted clop of horses down the street
melts the whispered rasp of raking leaves
filtered slowly through the mountain heat
beneath the stellar blue of make-believes:
I rest within Descanso's summer spell,
wrapped in a heritage of chaparral.
Copyright © 1999 by Chryss Yost. Reprinted by permission of the author.
gray granite boulders softly wrapped in moss
beneath the dusty light of oaks as old
as California. Creeks just right to cross
with one wide leap and lined with cottonwood,
river stone chimneys, an abandoned bridge
which finally lost its lumber in the flood.
Manzanitas bend beneath the ridge,
the muted clop of horses down the street
melts the whispered rasp of raking leaves
filtered slowly through the mountain heat
beneath the stellar blue of make-believes:
I rest within Descanso's summer spell,
wrapped in a heritage of chaparral.
Copyright © 1999 by Chryss Yost. Reprinted by permission of the author.
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