Springtime In the Rockies
All these years I overlooked them in the
racket of the rest, this
symbiotic splash of plant and fungus feeding
on rock, the sun, a little moisture, air—
tiny acid-factories dissolving
salt from living rocks and
eating them.
Here they are, blooming!
Trial rock, talus and scree, all dusted with it:
rust, ivory, brilliant yellow-green, and
cliffs like murals!
Huge panels streaked and patched, quietly
with shooting-stars and lupine at the base.
Closer, with the glass, a city of cups!
Clumps of mushrooms and where do the
plants begin? Why are they doing this?
In this big sky and all around me peaks &
the melting glaciers, why am I made to
kneel and peer at Tiny?
These are the stamps on the final envelope.
How can the poisons reach them?
In such thin air, how can they care for the
loss of a million breaths?
What, possibly, could make their ground more bare?
Let it all die.
The hushed globe will wait and wait for
what is now so small and slow to
open it again.
And now, indeed, it opens it again, this
scentless velvet,
crumbler-of-the-rocks,
this lichen!
by Lew Welch
from Ring of Bone
Collected Poems 1950-1971
Grey Fox Press, Bolinas California
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