vasquez canyon as america in poetry

the greenest that I ever saw
these hills in the desert high
the six or so years that I lived here
the half-dozen I’ve been visiting my brother
thick grass along the Vasquez Rock
where Jim once dueled Gorn in absence of Spock
but the joy of the fresh scrub’s bloom
hides the danger of another
when freak winter brings the rain
fires of fall will bring the pain
oh the hell of hot October surprise
that can only be pre-screened
with the right kind of eyes
or at least broken of a right kind
at least broken like mine
a naive spring I’ve come to learn
will often give away to the monsters
damning Vasquez to feel the burn