To no end
Their dramatic indifference is sinister
But like soldiers on a battlefield
Are allowed no belief of their own
Are there to do their job
So, must the mist restore balance
Within moments, with collective movement
The seedless thompsons on beds of ancient vernal pools
Will rustle their leaves in loneliness
Enveloped in a deceptive solitude
A sheer curtain of deadly silence surrounds them
And it has already laid siege to the pavement
The mist nourishes the weed in the crack
Quenches the thirst of the displaced redwoods
That stand in a silent relief after the sunny spell
Whitewashed roads
We hear the eerie sirens of ambulances
And although we do not know where
We all know the spirits who have departed
Today was not her full day
Having mercy and making way for the sun’s invigorating rays
The hawk soars from the telephone pole
The mourning doves weep in celebration
And the noon blesses the sun-baked San Joaqui
--Gurcharan S., 9th-12th Grade