GIANT MOUNTAIN

     The Overnight
     First day of summer he's a whisp of smoke
     Open to subtle invisible movements in the air around him.
     The same fog is on the river that flows along the valley floor.
     He gets a Michigan at the roadstand and doesn't eat it.
     He says he wants to sample everything he can.

     We climb the notch to E-town in misty rain.
     At the trailhead to Giant Wilderness
     They're making road repairs and we get a chance to slow down.
     The hardwood stand is apple green against the pine
     And I pull in by the ranger box to get a feel of the place.

     The friend is pleasant and shy with a fishing reel in his hand.
     He has a cut on his face from a minor accident and his Dad
     Greets me with the manners of someone from middle America.
     Their craft shop is full of raw wood furniture and glass.
     She works in real estate and the daughter studies gymnastics.

     They live a lifestyle with electricity from wind and sun.
     The boys go fishing off a pier and play together
     At a popular role playing game passionately for hours.
     Driving home under black clouds and shafts of light
     I can't see what direction this weather is coming from.

     Slide Brook
     The petals of a white flower close to the ground
     Are stars and the leaves are veined like dogwood.
     Maple seedlings with two opposing leaves on a short stem
     Flourish on our path and a bird sounds like a hollow whistle.

     We reach a forest stream with great boulders and fast water
     And they hike over the rocky falls and wade in pools
     Singing together a loud song about mountains and climbing.
     The wind is soft with a light drizzle in sun and shade.

     They stop and he steps back to take a picture
     So he'll remember them like that.
     I come up from behind and make donkey ears
     Over her head and they all laugh at the old joke.

     We turn around in a sudden storm through glistening woods
     Thunder and jagged flashes at the openings in the trees.
     I dream and drop behind and their voices carry back to me
     In excited exchanges which I can't make out until I lose them.

     Bayard Cutting Arboretum
     I get an invitation to my son's wedding.
     He's twelve when his Mom and I break up
     And we haven't been in touch for years.
     I have a picture of him taken a few months after it happened.
     We're alone at a park with trees on the Island
     And I am showing him the rare plants and flowers.
     He's in front of a hundred foot decorative spruce from Japan.
     The branches spread all the way to the ground
     And he is smiling and stiff for the camera.

     He marries a girl whose face I never get to see
     But I know it's her when I stop behind her car in traffic.
     Her fingers are parted and she's running them through her hair
     In long slow motions lifting up the strands
     And dropping them gently through the open spaces
     Letting them fall freely on the side of her face.
     At thirty-eight it's the fourth one he's been serious about.

     The ceremony is in a garden before noon.
     The chairs are out on the freshly cut lawn.
     Off to the side the tables are arranged with glasses
     Filled only with daisies and a spray of green.
     Under a tent where it's cool they're in formal clothing
     Nervous and happy though they've been together for years.
     The things they feel will never be like this for them again.
     I can't make it and I send all the best.

     Jay NY 6/13/94