Capitol Reef

a poem of our National Parks

A row of purple mesas, one by one,
Goes black with shade, then frothing skim-milk white,
As thunder rain rolls in along the front.
We shelter where a span of arcking stone
Bisects the storm, and when the water comes
It pours down either side in waterfalls.
The strobing drops rebound off redrock slabs
And merge in rivulets that gouge the sand.
The creek now rises, muddy in its banks.
The torrent churns as blazing sun returns
To exorcise the moisture from the scree
And send it heavenward like banished ghosts.
Back on the trail, our boots leave livid prints.
We pass the golden hour—and canteen sips—
Beneath the broken cliffs and petroglyphs.