Under every yes lay a passion for no
That had not been broken. Yes was the flesh
About to take a dive. No was the insistence
It was better to wait, even now, even as fires
Swept down the mountainside and smoke
Was only one of multiple unpleasantnesses
That could overtake the stubborn lookout.
But then, the air would clear for a day or two,
The loneliness of no one inhuman to talk to
Would abate in the brilliant noon sun, almost
As if the day had something to say for itself,
And the no would grow stronger, confident
That a good change could overtake bad,
That reversals were possible in all directions,
That even rates were subject to reversals,
That it was worth waiting for the calm, even
If the fires weren't out. The yes would hide,
Another shy, endangered predator in trees,
Not really wanting to jump out and pounce,
Given the choice. A sated bear in a meadow
Dozing off a bellyful of huckleberries, yes
Could be at moments like these, scarcely
Aware enough to lift a snout to the breeze,
Which was anyway clean for the time being.
So, no settled comfortably in by a stream
And drank its fill and, unaccountably, hoped
For a good thunderstorm to unsettle things.
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