Vent

We lay still for a while.
Clouds crawl across the sky.
Sweetgrass in the wind tickles your ear.

The land slopes downward south and east.
Say’s Phoebe flies over us catching.
We eavesdrop on an extinction event.

Our lifelong volcano without surprises.
The geological alarm clock steadily ticks.
It accumulates seconds. Pressure.

The bulge not yet showing.
In the ancient cone, rainwater
does not pool for long.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

postscript

I wrote this a month ago, three weeks before I learned the caldera under Yellowstone is filling with lava and has lifted the landscape (the size of metro Chicago) by 5 inches.

Our volcano cones west of Albuquerque are as calm as ever.

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