Scenic View

By Roy Dean Doughty
Written 6/27/07

Crossing Wyoming’s Big Horns, our thoughts come full-stop,
But the eyes, our I’s, keep evolving, and scoping out
Theological splendors from these impossibly
Majestic steeps. Around us, below us, above us
Rise boulders and outcroppings like the cities
Of too-large to see gigantomachia,
Whose broad backs and profound foreheads
Absorb gold from their Lord, the sun, like monstrous
Misers insatiable for glory. The eyes, our I’s, are swallowed.
Devoured by granite and sandstone citadels,
By snow-melt meadows burning with daisies and lupines,
By acres of hemlocks, straight, straight and straight,
The giants infect us with their arrogance,
And a brazen defiance of everything mean or small.
Our sight, without that divisive calculator,
Is absorbed in height and depth, avalanched both
By the amassed miraculous minutia
And by strata on strata climbing through glacial time.
And they, the eyes, our I’s, begin to disentangle
The receptors of bad and good, of bell and book,
To embed themselves in this jewel of infinite grandeur.
Here, we cannot be anything, but what they are:
Light in the affairs of light, immensely free
Of the trivial afflictions of incarnation.
Great appetites gorging on pettiness, pulsing beauty.
Now, without ostentation, we proclaim our kingdom,
And what we say is as big as the world we see.

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