William Shunn                                         18 lines
12 Courier Lane
Pica's Font, NY 10010
(212) 555-1212
formatshunn.net





SALT CRUSTED ON AUTOMOTIVE GLASS

Between me, safe in my seat on this bus,
And the decadent majesty of the salmon-red cliffs of eastern
     Utah,
A ghost landscape stands sentinel,
As if etched into the glass by a cadre of capering goblins.

The residue of a hasty window washing--
Loops and whorls of dirt left untouched, uncleansed,
Unrepentent, at the bottom of the glass on each fluid
     upstroke--
It sparkles, gritty and salt-sharp in the oblique sunlight,
Like a series of pearly solar flares,
Or a graph of the desert's pulsebeat,
Or spectral negatives of a washed-out sandstone arch,
Photographed in stages over eons of time--
Snapshots from a child-god's flip-book--
Frothing, leaping, peaking, then falling back into the ground
Like fountains of earth,
A time-lapse planetary signature
That will melt and return to dust
With the next unlikely rain.