Diablo Poem by Val Morehouse

Playing in time like an Aeolian melody, goat stars
bound devil mountain’s crevasses.
Like the fall of an eagle ancient stones cracked,
and rained through pine and bay
until they exploded with crowns of jays.

Once, wide skirts of shadow swirled
and danced around each stone,
where mica flirted and flashed back.
But too soon Diablo's rough fists froze.
Deaf, wearing a warrior's feather of cloud,

two-shouldered, balding, Ugly One
ground down by eons, your eyes are dark caves.
Your broken shoulders stoop in the moonlight.
Yet trickster coyote still sings from your heights,
as you gather goose-stepping armies of

tarantulas to announce the season,
and spook the civilized.
Your softness remains hidden inside
high nests of fern and falling water
held tight by shade.