Honeymoon Sunrise

This high-desert boy,
raised 'neath Sierra peaks,
has a distorted view of
Appalachia --
taught shorter than,
greener than,
older than,
deciduous.
Lacking TV 'truth'
mountain life was brought live
by Zane Grey and Dan'l Boone,
hillbilly jokes,
and geography class.

Thus this view wasn't wrong,
but scarcely complete --
and never explained
why people here live
the way they do and all.

Now I've lived close by
a couple of years,
but don't travel much
because of Em and gas prices --
'twas said I could see
Blue Ridge Peaks
from my Knoxville porch
on a clear day -- never did.

Now I've spent a week
surrounded by still beauty,
twisty roads and jutting shale --
sudden streams and tiny vales --
re-opened shops with tourist crap --
religious art inspiring --
nothing moves 'till nine.

All and all it's a world apart,
and I've a glimps of why ...
suspending judgment of
redneck antipathy
and withered family trees ...

the sun never rises here!

Oh, it is bright enough
when the clock announces
day is here and work begun,
and everything is green,
in fact there's nothin' ain't;
but I've yet to see a beam of light
or drifting cloud against the sky.
Neither children nor birds
frolic in dust-mote sun-shafts,
or sit on sizzling rocks,
or rope swing o're water holes.

There is forever haze, you see,
or don't to be exact,
that protects these bosom mountains,
and I guess that's quite alright;
but I could never live here long,
because, for me --
there is no song,
when there is no sun,
nor moon,
nor stars above.

So I will return to Sakin'el,
and Tegsh and cats,
and Henge beneath
a sun that rises
at dawn.