From the western hemisphere, white temples rise.
Clues hide in the proud rock face.
Answers come on the devil's trail,
in the stiff, barbed lobes of nodding thistle.
Indignant purple weeds' keep you
on the thorny path to the summit
where the garrison commander enforced
the free fire zone: three Esopus tribe children
shot dead, gathering huckleberries;
where a god may wipe the pale brow
of Bonticou Crag or kiss the entire
emerald span of the Shawangunk Ridge.
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