Light on silicon dust
needles of Jeffrey pine
ripe cherries, foil
to keep off crested jays
(they find this hilarious)
light on high bare slopes
where the snows slip down
into desert summer
Light on the threshold
of this old cabin, survivor
of earthquakes, mudslides,
ten-foot snows, where I stand
survivor of seventy summers,
winters, avarice done with
and so much still to love
Light on the thinning hair
of my grown children
faces of their growing children
light on the hands of friends
waving hello, goodbye
car bumping down the canyon road
Light resting on treetops
in this upland valley
a wind that comes with darkness
high branches waving
goodbye, farewell, good night
O, ritual smell of woodsmoke
deadwood giving its last light