We started the day with checkers and toasted marshmallows by the camp fire.
You got a problem with that as a piece of poesie? A little family happiness?
At the Coombs archaeological site, where a Kayenta-style small pueblo
Shared living space with Fremont-style pithouses, eight centuries ago
For two or three generations before all the little rooms were abandoned,
We walked in and out, stared at hearths and artifacts, the remaining walls
That reminded me of the little stone honeycombs open to the sky at Skara Brae,
Occupied some five thousand years earlier and half a globe away.
What were the lives of those families like? What were their happinesses?
How did they end? What did they care about most at the end?
Driving over Hell's Backbone, the sheer cliffs crumbling down
And away from both soft shoulders simultaneously, I felt the weight
Of the ever-shifting world on my own slumped shoulders
And asked my happy child in the back seat which side would be
Scarier to fling her door open toward. She picked the farther side
And then we both laughed. Later we ate pizza at Backerei Forscher
On the route home and teased each other about how stinky we were
From a weekend in the wilderness, under the nearly now
Full moon, glow sequined by only the brightest of yesteryear stars.
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