The Complications of Clockwork

My view from Bear Valley, where this poem was composed...

The Complications of Clockwork

I try to imagine

this same spot I sit

centuries ago

Thirteen hundred and three

feet up the mountain

and let me pretend

that was the date

below in the valley

cacophony of confusion

cars, racing rocket bikes

train blaring at crossings, Cessnas,

Jets landing and leaving 

closer still

rolling rubber on gravel above

the distant freeway rumble

all this gas-powered earfiller

punctuated with a sleddog's bark

a confused rooster crow

then silence

the ears ring at first

adjust to the new era

then the hollows fill

the creek runoff

a chickadee chirp

a raven calls, then swoops

and prunes her wings 

beak pecking a feathers 

she croaks like a wood carved toad

snow crust crunches in the Hemlock

beneath moose hooves

the city below is gone now, too

a lone smoke tendril 

at the ocean shore

so far below

a campfire

perhaps a cousin

or an enemy from another tribe 

I let the spring sun warm my face

as I would have done then, too

and so many things would be

as they are without the rumble

of machine, the complications

of clockwork, castles, and composition

clear, clean, civilized