In his fifth collection of poetry, Deer at Twilight, Paul J. Willis offers a vividly imagistic insight into the depths of nature within and around the state of Washington.
Walking on Water, Pyramid Lake
These particular bugs can do it,
dimpling the surface with their feet,
and no one has built a church in their name.
Other bugs swim underwater with abandon,
with no blue ribbons to show for it.
That leaves the rest of us to perform
our daily miracles without applause.
This rock, for example, sheared flat
by who knows what torturous force,
left to host its lime-green share
of crustose lichen, that concoction
of algae and fungi which long ago,
not even listening to Rodney King,
decided we can get along if we just try.
Walking on Water, Pyramid Lake
These particular bugs can do it,
dimpling the surface with their feet,
and no one has built a church in their name.
Other bugs swim underwater with abandon,
with no blue ribbons to show for it.
That leaves the rest of us to perform
our daily miracles without applause.
This rock, for example, sheared flat
by who knows what torturous force,
left to host its lime-green share
of crustose lichen, that concoction
of algae and fungi which long ago,
not even listening to Rodney King,
decided we can get along if we just try.
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