The hillsides hang, coral-stained,
their heavy drapery this simple
space enfolds, inverts the coppery
moonrise skies and softly gathers dust.
Quietly, the ragged ridge advances
on my clamorous quiet, invests this
place, encroaches on each instant’s
insubstantial, its inviolate defenses.
We are made earth, made stone,
made skin in this approximation:
made self, made place by the outside-
in that each inviolable self unselves.
DB Jonas is an orchardist living in the Sangre de Cristo mountains of northern New Mexico. Born in California in 1951, raised in Japan and Mexico, he has returned to poems after a long hiatus in business and the sciences. His work has appeared in numerous journals.