1191. In The Sierras - Al Young

Way up here, where sky comes close

to calling all the shots, where

photographers, geographers and gopher-

loathing golfers and creature-comfort joggers,

where bikers, hikers, wrecking crews and

hoarse writers alike mount slow invasions;

here, where whole fields, whole hills heal

and mountains make big money mean,

peace speaks its native tongue.

Way up here, where sky comes close,

where stakes grow vast, where the last

and first run neck and neck, where loveliness

lays herself on every line at once;

up here, where far and close dissolve.

where the Sierras do not err and terror

cheapens. Sleeplessness like formlessness

must nest at midnight-lighted height.

Peace gets and takes its chances.