Cross on Mendo Lake & Vine

Sounding radio fills the car
beating overheated air
hard against the windows
that keep out gusting wind blows
& knock against a rushing view--

row upon row of wine grapes hangs
unpicked & frozen dry
on twisted dormant vines:
another modern mystery folksong
unspools its tangled yarn--

stage is set in heartfelt mumbles
while Jesus hangs in shadow-wings
nailed between his myth & history

I might stop and look and listen
with better quiet care
as the winding tale seeps out
into clean & clear cold air

but I lean into the gas & I press on
--I floor pedal to the metal & drive on--

There's a motion at th edge of sight
that catches my attention--
maybe pulse of hardy wildlife
failing flight to tumble in surrender
down the scrub-harsh hill?

But it's too late in the season
& all that's left behind us
is the broken track we seek to own
in a trail of dust & twilight

--a blank blue heaven gives the lie
to our best-intentioned fables:
row upon row of wine grapes hangs
unpicked & frozen dry
on twisted, dormant vines