all the ships at sea

all the ships at sea
By El Guero
spring came early
then three days of wind
cold enough to freeze all
of our reasons
so finely wrought
like music wrestled
at the greatest possible
from the well of history
and memory
and pain –
durable and deep and
now two hours after sunset
the transmission tower
like a heat mirage
high on top of
the watermelon mountain –
now nearly snowless
on this side –
the desert below
so like a sea
and from just the right
vantage point you can see
the cars cresting
west central avenue –
old route 66 –
like a caravan trekking
across brightest morocco
and the wind still blows
the warmth having not
and it sings it sings
to everything yet alive:
the broad-winged bird
silent and
hidden til morning,
the drivers of the cars –
tiny moving islands of
light –
seeking oasis relentlessly
like thirsty pilgrims
like so many ships at sea

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