Katrinka Moore

Serpentina

Gorge means throat and the rovers falter
at the sheer walls, narrow floor, wonder

if it is a path, wonder where it leads — horseshoe
curve to the right, straightaway, bend to the left.

Down here winding, neither of them knows
which direction they’re walking, yesterday’s

clear sky turned thick-clouded, low over long-
empty channel, in this present no water, no sun, no

wind. Silence, or as close as they’ve ever been.

Wash

wind-warped cedar, rock and stone
heat and the glare of it

                sheds as she goes, grows gaunt

a single willow where water once ran

                hunkers down, heels
                sink in soft soil

shade, trace of damp air

                walks on for the sake of it

twist in the trail, rise