Lying on the Wet Ground Next to Oak Creek
If these were not the last days of winter
I would not be here, on my back
beside this great bend of water.
For I have tried this too many other times
in other less violent seasons
to know that it takes the snow packed
two thousand feet above
and the total cooperation of the- sun
up to my jaw and my breath
as heavy and fragrant as sweat,
the echo of sound jarring the land,
this orchestra of thaw, I can lie,
void of mv own, silent as nothing.