Clear Creek RV Park
We rolled in and were instantly
crowned the junkyard dogs, no, "most resourceful."
Old folks admire our relative youth
neighborhood kids stop by and swap books, gossip.
And all night long our 1988 Ford Jamboree
wears white Christmas lights, a crown.
Deep, colorless Clear Creek is one path nearby
the Milky Way is another.
At night you hear
the rushes. The rushes.
Then, from some far corner, Chinooks come down,
pass over the tin roof
like ghost hands tapping messages.
We are broke
but we are also old light.
Winter constellations are fellow travelers.
Earth was dug up
into a town called Golden.
Always a vague fear of the earth caving in?
Blame the School of Mines.
But then, their M on the mountain is a kind of lighthouse,
see it from the highway, you're almost home.
(Originally published in Colorado Life Magazine, Jan. 2013.
