Fall Colors

Like Gatorade—unnatural

aqua water surrounded autumn

yellows and reds scattered

up powder sugar-coated

mountains cuddling a shy glacier.

A small fish struggles on its side

at the surface—youth displayed:

vertical diamonds, iridescent spots

twinkle in the diffused sun trickling

down. Round and round. Then

revived. Into the depths, invisible for a moment.

Then white belly drifting to the clouds. Bearing

witness means clumsy theology applied like

toddler's experiment: how do star blocks fit

triangle holes? Mysteries: rapture or fall?

Is this Normal?

My new GoreTex jacket

hangs in the coat closet,

a handsome grey with

green trim: a silver fox

waiting for rain.

The forecast is near 20

and dry. I check

the active wildfires in BC,

scroll-down the page,

wonder:

what a hectare is,

how big is a half-million,

why metric still feels foreign,

who was still worried,

is this normal?

200 dollars

for a bike rack—

from Germany, comes with

a 30 year warranty.

Still. . .

A sunny day in October:

the man with a snake and quick gait

walks past the coffee shop

that just ran out of cold-brew.

In Las Vegas: 50+ shot dead

with two dozen guns modified to be

automatic—politicians offer prayer

for victims, congress considers

a law legalizing silencers.

Joe Laughs

Joe paddles backward in the eddy

behind a rock, riffles like fu-manchu

frame Joe as he lingers in the river

soul-patch and checks his fit-bit

equipped with paddle-boarding app—

“6.1 miles” he shouts. An Osprey cheers

from it’s house atop power pole.

Joe is impressed I know

Osprey from Merganser.

Joe lives on this river,

confuses me with ignorance

of names and lack of fear—

standing on shaking legs down rapids

between rocks with igneous flare

like punk-rock bracelets we bought

from Hot Topic. Joe laughs at danger

even as he drops his lower half-in

to warm the river and mark it

home.