Holding the Sky
We saw a town by the track in Colorado.
Cedar trees below had sifted the air,
snow water foamed the torn river there
and a lost road went climbing
the slopes like a ladder.
We were traveling between a mountain
and Thursday, holding pages back
on the calendar, remembering every
turn in the roadway:
We could hold that sky, we said,
and remember.
On the western slopes we crashed
into Thursday.
"So long," you said
when the train stopped there.
Snow was falling, touching
in the air.
Those dark mountains have never
wavered.
William Stafford
Posted over on William Stafford Archives
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