Utah Tryptich

Utah Tryptich

Utah 1

This is the land where stones fall from the sky,

where the rainbows are made of earth,

where water is gold,

and you can drown in undrinkable oceans.

This is the land where miles are time

and the song of one bird can be heard,

the land of freezing heat.

This land is like the long, cool drink

to the parched, dry throat

from a poisoned well.

This is the land where God pauses to look over his shoulder,

where the hand is open, but empty.

This is the land where red and blue live inside the mind,

where brown is taste, where green is dream

and safety is distance.

Our arrival in this land is an act of hubris,

and the people reach out for cobwebs

left in the corners of ancient houses

to make them feel safe in this land

which must always remain

a friendly stranger

suspected of harboring

a dark secret.

Utah 2

A distant thunderstorm

makes promises

which it will not keep,

and no one is fooled.

The rain falls on Zion,

crying tears on the upturned faces of thirsty stones,

sculpting the parched sand.

Unlucky,

this water will never reach the ocean,

but trickle down to the sea of tears

at the heart of this land,

or dwindle and fail

in attempted escape,

stopped cold by the ghosts of thirsty machines.

But who can doubt that an ocean exists somewhere,

that these drops will someday swell its tide,

and so we must believe in the reincarnation of the water,

in the transubstantiation of the spirit of water,

so that the wetness of upturned faces

and the taste of tears

will have meaning

in this land.

Utah 3

space and light unending

breathe in dust

breathe out religion

breathe in salt

breathe out concrete

breathe in stones

breathe out certainty

breathe in desperation

breathe out iron

breathe in fever

breathe out visions

the hand is raised  to the rainless sky

to the empty sky

the hand shades the searching eye

the bird sings deep in the valley

where the water hides

the snake sheds its skin in secret

and waits for the cool night

the coyote sitting outside the campfire’s circle of light

raises its muzzle and sniffs the smell

of paper money and felt,

of the drops of oil

caught in the blinding lights

the coyote hears the sound of the engine

and turns for a last look at the redrock

breathe in dust

breathe out fate

breathe in salt

breathe out histories

breathe in stones

breathe out reservations

breathe in fever

breathe out visions

- John Michael Hurt