Ode to Balanced Rock
Devil's Lake

"here I shall be again the movement
of the water, of
its wild heart,
here I shall be both lost and found–
here I shall be perhaps both stone and silence."
  – Neruda, from "I Will Come Back"









The ancients
had called the pine
the grand old man
who stood in the open,
perhaps sprouted
out from between
the narrowly
chiseled stones,
worn by ancient winds,
and understanding
rippled over the surfaces
flattened
by the thousands
of pelting raindrops.
Grand old man
of wisdom
taught the children
who would come
at the behest
of the parents
what it meant
to seek by eyes
that were roots
moisture and a firm
grip
gnarled in among
time itself
to release
sniffing upwards
for the smell
of the sun.
We come to see
him today
at Devil's Lake,
wisdom
alongside the rock
that looks to teeter
but too holds
to a forever
that we cannot
know among
our streets
among our cars
which roll
past all wisdom
of lakes and trees,
wisdom of the fallen
leaves,
of the last
parade of geese
who steer
over the blue
ether by the throb
of an ancient
skull tuned to another
turn of the earth.
The rock
and the pine
are where you go
to see yourself
in one thousand
years.
The faces
of all who climb
the quartzite boulders
are etched here
as monuments
along
with the wind,
old as the pine,
side by side
whose story
is rarely told.