Cimarron, New Mexico
By
John I. Blair
On a childhood trip to Taos
This was the spot
I first saw mountains.
Kansas, my native state,
Spread so book-flat
Sledders slid down man-made berms
And on whole square miles
Silos stood the tallest objects.
Now rose this dark cumulus,
This barricade, this wild wall,
This rock-besotted pile,
This shock to my assumptions.
It’s not they made me feel small
(The prairie sky’s enough for that),
But these mountains set a lofty mark
By which to estimate the world
And shook me from complacency.
I could no longer think this is
A soft and placid universe.
©2006 John I. Blair
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