Reclamation

The Oquirrh Mountains form a finger of land 
which rests its tip in the Great Salt Lake. Slopes 
behind alfalfa gently rise until they stop 
where the motion of ancient waves left benches of sand.
Above these former beaches, abrupt juts 
of stone angle into the eastern sky. 
Below, we feel delivered, allowed a dry 
miraculous passage when water fills the cuts 
in the hills and tumbles through the gullies that lace
the bed of this landlocked and receded sea. 
And even in extended absence, we 
can sense a swell of gravity in this place. 
We know the pull of refuge, the call of home; 
in our tidal blood we feel compelled to come.