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"Parowan Canyon"

So Quietly the Earth, poems by David Lee

When granite and sandstone begin to blur
and flow, the eye rests on cool white aspen.
Strange, their seeming transparency.
How as in a sudden flash one remembers
a forgotten name, so the recollection.
Aspen.

With a breeze in them, their quiet rhythms,
shimmering, quaking. Powder on the palm.
Cool on the cheek. Such delicacy
the brittle wood, limbs snapping
at a grasp, whole trees tumbling in the winds.
Sweet scent on a swollen afternoon.
Autumn, leaves falling one upon another, gold
rains upon a golden earth. How at evening
when the forest darkens, aspen do not.
And a white moon rises and silver stars
point toward the mountain, darkness
holds them so pale.
They stand still, very still.

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David Lee was Utah's first poet laureate, and is the author of fifteen volumes of poetry, including So Quietly the Earth, Driving & Drinking, and News from Down to the Cafe. A former seminary candidate, semi-pro baseball player, and hog farmer, he has a Ph.D. concentration in John Milton and taught at Southern Utah University for three decades.

< Thanks to Mark Hufstetler for recommending this poem. >

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