Sycamores
Weathered bones stuck
in a rocky landscape,
skeleton fingers grasp
at dark volcanic shapes
to anchor against the molten flow
of brown snow melt
and summer floods.
Bleached limbs reach
in precarious balance
between earth and sky,
shed their reptilian skin
of September leaves,
litter dry arroyos
with brittle tiles once again.
The ivory of smooth bark
on heat parched days
invites a caress
along the coolness
of its polished marble face,
refreshed by a trickle, unseen,
of silver spring water, slithering.