Rust to Grey
I think sometimes about that deep canyon,
tucked away copper below the soft mountain,
where the water plunges 150 feet into a pool of somber granite.
Observers come to perch on nearby boulders
like spectators at a rocket launch.
Forty years ago, after torrential November rains, an earthen dam above this gorge collapsed and 39 people were washed away to their untimely death.
Most were children.
A monument nearby lists their names.
I wish them peace;
their small bodies will not know this modern world.
The shaded stones hide the sullen secret
and life, like the flow of water, regenerates.
Yet, a pungency does penetrate this place,
like a stinking corpse lily in a solarium,
like rust fading to grey.
I feel it through my lens.