From the summer floor²

                                              of Big Smoky Valley

                                                  a fireless pyre

                                                      of twisted wind

                                                           heaves upward

                                                                through the air;

                                           a drunken tower

                                               tracing a path

                                                   precise and foretold

                                                       at the flash of creation;

                                            a wraith of dust

                                                responding to a plan

                                                    simply, completely,

                                                         without thought or counsel.

                                            Inattentive scud puffs,

                                                unschooled in mountain flying,

                                                     are caught fast on the windward peaks

                                                          of Butler, Oddie and Ararat

                                                                 and there soon to die of thirst.

                                            The feeding scarps,

                                                appeased for a time,

                                                    allow the others to pass unmolested

                                                        to distant scenes in the east.

                                            Lenticular cloud stacks

                                                stand and still-mark

                                                    the leeward, eastbound winds.

                                            Summer storms,

                                                 common in late sun,

                                                      sometimes stalk at night.

                                             A solitary nimbus,

                                                 innocent enough,

                                                     comes padding

                                                          on catamount feet.

                                             It softens the moon

                                                 and covers the dipper;

                                                      the yeast of heat and wet

                                                           begins to fill the vault

                                                                from Ralston south

                                                                      to Fleshbeater Flat.

                                             And then it announces.

                                                  Taut and turgid

                                                       it overtops the valley;

                                                           the bombast and arrogance

                                                                of thunder and lightning;

                                                                      the bellowing of a bull

                                                                            in an empty arena;

                                                                                  fireworks in a closet.

                                              And once again,

                                                   ³marrow-filled arroyos throb

                                                        with the muffled tumbling

                                                              of water-rushed rocks.

                                              The sharp shapes

                                                   and shadows framed

                                                        in the eastern light reveal

                                                              a scape washed clean and fresh;

                                                                    a scented medley

                                                                          of wet sand, sage

                                                                                 and mesquite.

                                            Storm to calm,

                                                flood to murmur.

                                                     All is as it was.

                                            ⁴Wherein lies

                                                the greater power,

                                                     the taper or

                                                         the holder?

                                             ⁵Clear winter nights,

                                                  absent a moon,

                                                       play all of the lesser works.

                                                            Shows that find no audience

                                                                  in Los Angeles or New York;

                                                                       such minor classics in themselves

                                                                            as Taurus, starring Pleiades

                                                                                  and Coma Berenices.

                                             ⁶Measured by

                                                   the steady tick

                                                         of the quiet dipper clock,

                                              those winter, wind-scrubbed firepoints

                                                  of pre-historic lights played out

                                                       their acts again tonight

                                                            to a packed house

                                                                numbering

                                                                     one.