We hike into cold
sandblaster wind that pits
the hides of car finishes.
Miles up a rough
sloping fan into foothills,
we pause, chunk
rocks into sample
piles, record mineral content.
From this we draw implications
about the Rockies’
stony heart.
Clouds part as we leave.
Suddenly
we are blinded
by countless suns,
each reflected from one-sided
rock mirrors polished like shields
by eastwardly
migrating grit.
Thoughts of data and warm
roadhouse vanish,
and
we skip dazzled
through
a field
of stars.
Rocky Flats, Colorado, 1963