Twenty Lines to Teahwhit Head
Silver by September moon,
the Platte laps mackerel
and a driftfire comforts
as Saturday slips west.
Last night in Iowa
while a Burlington clicked east
my campsite at Anita Lake
was canopied in crystal.
Tomorrow above Laramie
if weather stays as clean
this mummy bag will open
on needle bedded rock,
and from the Snowy Range
this same constant light
that nightly hints me fool
will see my thoughts to water
to Teahwhit Head days west
where breakers always startle
by how they chant a name, your
echo from their moon scaled sea.
Karl Garson
Blue Unicorn, October 1986