In the Forests of Stone

Hills banded blues and black and reds and pinks –
No plants in sight under the searing sun
Except this wood of solid stone that links
Us to Triassic forests, solid ton
Or more of wood in jasper crystals, Fall’s
Reds, yellows and sky blues shine in the light
Of Arizona’s sun, the heat that calls
Moisture out of the land and skin, the bright
Sun darkens people milling round the trees
And banded hills, their cameras out and flashing,
Collecting for them the same memories
Each person has who have been through, all wishing
They could see something different, but they
Need far more knowledge for that dawning day.