Imitation of Bob Hicok

I remember Colorado frequently,

Too often maybe.

The mediator between the West and the rest

Of the states that do not know the difference

Between mountains and hills.

The namesake of free spirits and old souls

To whom the heart whispers:

The mountains are calling

And I must go.

 

The settlement of daredevils and artists

Who come from the nearest and the farthest

To speak to the mountains the words

The world does not understand.

I remember Colorado frequently,

Too often maybe.

The place in which no one fits.

 

I lived in Colorado for eighteen years.

The state high might be the cannabis leaf;

It used to be fourteen thousand feet.

The state flower is the columbine:

A pale-petalled blossom,

A dazed spring massacre.

The state bird: A pair of skis,

If you are in to that kind of thing.

The place in which no one fits.

 

I climbed a fourteener before age fourteen;

Set my sights on the South at age seventeen.

I wanted to fit. So I crossed state lines,

Traded valleys for vines,

Foothills for chiggers,

Winters for drizzles.

I lived in Colorado for eighteen years,

Too long, maybe not

 

Because in the South I have found

That the place I call home

Is still the state

for which the heart whispers:

The mountains are calling

And I must

Go.

~Denali~

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