A Porphyry of Elements

Starting in a long swale between the Sierras
and the Coast Range,
Starting from ancient tidepools of a Pleistocene sea,
Starting from exposed granite bedrock,
From sandstone and shale, glaciated, river-worn,
and scuffed by wind,
Tired of the extremes of temperature,
the weather’s wantonness,
Starting from the survey of a condor’s eye
Cutting circles in the sky over Tehachapi and Tejon,
Starting from lava flow and snow on Shasta,
a head of white hair,
a garland of tongue-shaped obsidian,
Starting from the death of the last grizzly,
The final conversion of Tulare County
to the internal-combustion engine,
Staring from California oak and acorn,
scrubgrass, rivermist,
and lupine in the foothills,
From days driving through the outfield clover
of Modesto in a borrowed Buick,
From nights drinking pitchers of dark
in the Neon Moon Bar & Grill,
From mornings grabbing a lunchpail, work gloves,
and a pisspot hat,
From Digger pine and Douglas fir and aspen around Placerville,
From snowmelt streams slithering into the San Joaquin,
From the deltas and levees and floods of the Sacramento,
From fall runs of shad, steelhead, and salmon,
From a gathering of sand, rock, gypsum, clay,
limestone, water, and tar,
From a need or desire to throw your money away
in The Big City,
From a melting of history and space in the crucible
of an oil-stained hand—
Starting from all these, this porphyry of elements,
this aggregate of experiences
Fused like feldspar and quartz to the azure stone
of memory and vision,
Starting from all of these and an affectionate eye
for straight, unending lines,
We hit this old road of Highway Ninety-Nine!