Don Thompson
Tule Fog
Angels in camouflage keep low
and still, wearing fog
robes with tumbleweed woven in.
Air holds their breath for them.
What happened to seraphim and cherubim--
shouts and trumpets blasting,
long incandescent hair?
These angels have no further input.
They’re done with us.
If you watch long enough,
one will rise above the field,
just slightly--
no more than a shrug.
Eschatology
We’ve had a night visitor now and then
since last winter. Unseen,
except for prints
pressed into mud or dust.
A paw so much larger than your hand
could only be Pleistocene--
a dire wolf’s ghost
slowly coming alive once more
to be here in time for the End.
Ten thousand years hungry.
Don Thompson has been writing about the San Joaquin Valley for over fifty years, including a dozen or so books and chapbooks. For more info and links to publishers, visit his website at www.don-e-thompson.com.
Angels in camouflage keep low
and still, wearing fog
robes with tumbleweed woven in.
Air holds their breath for them.
What happened to seraphim and cherubim--
shouts and trumpets blasting,
long incandescent hair?
These angels have no further input.
They’re done with us.
If you watch long enough,
one will rise above the field,
just slightly--
no more than a shrug.
Eschatology
We’ve had a night visitor now and then
since last winter. Unseen,
except for prints
pressed into mud or dust.
A paw so much larger than your hand
could only be Pleistocene--
a dire wolf’s ghost
slowly coming alive once more
to be here in time for the End.
Ten thousand years hungry.
Don Thompson has been writing about the San Joaquin Valley for over fifty years, including a dozen or so books and chapbooks. For more info and links to publishers, visit his website at www.don-e-thompson.com.