Poems by Paul Willis

Field Trip

by Paul Willis

From Canary Spring 2023

Paul lives among live oaks, sycamores, and chaparral at the foot of the Santa Ynez Mountains on the central coast of California, where he built and maintained two miles of trail on land owned by the college where he taught for many years.

Another class, another circuit of this trail,
half-cleared, Sisyphean snake.
Still, a journey of a wandering hour,
a sinuous feast.

Banks of nasturtium in full orange shock,
just starting to dissipate, the lemon-flavored
sourgrass now shriveled to a crust.
Wild turnip sauced with its cousin, wild mustard.

In the canyons, burnt oaks
and skeletons of eucalyptus, our wildfire
now eighteen months in the past.
Garden hoses cross the path

to water new tints of green:
mugwort, hummingbird sage.
And the sound of construction nearby,
bulldozers backing up to their own passing bells.

Everywhere, evidence of spring rains
through a charred and open canopy,
purple thistles eight feet high,
slender giants on the earth.