The Salinas Valley

The Salinas Valley

The sun’s rays like the spines of sea urchins
Crucify the valley where the farms lay
In their Sabbath sleep. It is Saturday.
Have you ever noticed, say, on a bus
Between towns (maybe your car broke down), how
Old the light is in the eyes of the child
Staring at you over the green seat backs?
On such days, held in such eyes, one can be 
Forgiven for thinking of all the dead
For whom no monument exists but that
Loving look they saw nightly in their lovers’ eyes
When they came in from being wronged in the fields,
A look that died with their lovers, and so
Abides no where we can see. No fame but 
Their names softly spoken. The light you’re being 
Borne through, the dead knew this light too. 
It is the precise same light their sons
And grandsons squint into as they gun
Muscle cars into the hills above Salinas.