After a hike you take refuge
in grass--tufts of hair covering
dry, dusty earth.
You see the tall black tops of burnt-out
trees, a dirt road that winds up
into the mountains. Red and purple flowers riot
in an alpine meadow. In the distance the Rocky Mountains
and in the foreground weeds mix
with grassy stalks. You smell fresh pine
and honey. Incendiary grass ripples
in the evening sun. Beams of sunlight pour through your car
like ghosts.