PROTECTED FROM SIN
At the San Gabriel your daughter
squats on dinosaur stone,
glacial skin seared by cobalt skies.
Alone along the banks of the Looking Glass,
a dying red maple leaf in your palm,
you wait for autumn’s door to slam.
The white snake of winter stalking
in dead bluestem along the road.
You slip into the arctic current,
hole up beneath the crystal beauty,
float under the radar again,
conspire with the water,
doze among the graveled beds,
submerged, protected from your sin.
In late May you will rise slowly,
a brookie to a Yellow Sally, flashing
your white belly fat to the sun.
