The Sunken Forest

When the Spaniards first discovered the deep
watersheds of the Santa Cruz Mountains,
they settled in a valley of sunken redwoods:
parquetry of trunks bleached by the waterline.

The men saw galleons in the washed wood,
misconstruing California’s riparian right
to ambush foreigners with artful imagery.

Weeks passed, the varicose hills exploded
with flashfloods, washing the entire camp
into its sodden womb; devouring the unsought
bodies with fibrous roots.

Santa Muerte swept her bridal seiche
over the risen lake. Branches grew
out of the drowned armor; the last
wooden gravestones of human fallibility.