Friday, September 15, 2017


His careful footsteps
mark the ring of solid ground
circling the soft, thin crust.
His words are boardwalks,
on which I traverse
the delicate lacework of
terra firma's soft spot.

Even the earth has weak spots
in her crust,
Yellowstone, a playground of vulnerability,
attenuated lithosphere, barely capping a
swell of angry magma fuming below the
crust, which draws four million visitors
a year and then some, flocking to
her almost-wound like flies,
as it dazzles with its stinging,
hot, prismatic beauty.

Like the Yellowstone park rangers,
he marks the territory that is
solid, sure, weight-bearing
which the public is allowed to see.

But we are drawn to the
thin spots in the crust
and the cracks in the armor.

We learn them by heart,
until each sore point becomes our Ol' Faithful,
comforting in his predictable eruptions
by which we keep the hour.

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