Year of writing 97 7/30

4/7/12   

7/30  Upper Lake Tahoe, June 2011.




The snow fell sudden and strange
that June, we bundled up
in whatever could be found; wore
socks on hands, wrapped
t - shirts around our heads.


City children with grins like
springtime, we wrestled and
dug with numb fingers, our
impressions in the fallen white
some new kind of magic.


Later, around a fire,
cheeks and lips raw, we told 
stories of things that can't be 
and won't be. Our throats 
alembics,  distilling rime
from razorwire and concrete.