Songs of the
Santa Catalinas

"...who can get past the tangles of the world
and sit with me in the clouds..." – Cold Mountain 32













3

The Catalina outcrops never end
I follow the false horizons ever upward
finger rock trail a desert pilgrim
look back down the canyon to the fading city
downtown skyscrapers the size of the saguaro
that stands right before me green holy symbol
the ripe red fruit of the prickly pear
tumbles down quietly in offering

4

city streets under the cloud of desert heat
streetlights flash and cars idle to a stop
we dash across the street in hope of safety
loud music blares from a truck the size of a tank
later when I reach the top of finger rock trail
I hold like a grasshopper each thought
then let them leap up and fly to the sand below
release every blinking image and know home

Santa Catalinas
Revisitied

"Wise ones you ignore me
I ignore you fools
neither wise nor foolish
I'll disappear henceforth..." – Cold Mountain 30










1

A fine stampot of pork at the Dutch
Two ales and thoughts of whiskey
The streets of Tucson become lit up
and students pass in dark happy masks
I look north to the Santa Catalinas
for my daily earthly sustenance
the day I finally disappear as canyon
you will finally know who I am


2

the mind today pairs with electrodes
washed screens full of bright pixels
the world is an electric mess with no soul
and we spend our days knowing less
someday you will hold a canyon rock
and inspect it for its thousands of years
one strand will reflect your guazy eyes
you could still learn to live again

And So, The Desert

"...friends hug your suburbs
farmlands are given a nod
but I know the path
to your wilderness."  – Snyder, from "The Earth's Wild Places"











I saw the pool on my own
out at the end of all the haciendas

sat out on the last chair pointing
at the foothills of Santa Catalinas
like a compass    was no barrier between
us

just a glass fence and then the suburban
cacti the rough old horse paths
littered by blown water bottles other trash
golf course rising up
like a string of green lush islands linked
and made it all seem alright

other eyes looking down on us
from Mt. Kimball out on the horizon
up along the Finger Rock Trail
were my own eyes from a day ago

I wolf that I had never seen
I mountain goat bobcat ochotillo rising
up by its thick living room stalks
where I was in love by the saguaro green

one had fallen only one
and lay flat along the trail
just the ribs of it brown and dessicated
the clear outline of what was before
sleeping now

Her Singing Has the Lilt

"This maid is from Hantan
her singing has the lilt
make use of her refuge..."
– Cold Mountain 28










We could watch all night
the moonlit jacket of the bay
we might sleep for hours
and awake with mountain eyes
and yet we will still part
from our lives like old friends
one man stayed out on the boat
another off to the city alone