Fourth of July at Aspen

The color-striped day
moved me to look up where
the mountain stood aloof
from the valley nor did the
rainbow rockets and hearty bombs
change its habit. By midday the valley
boiled with people breathing the fumes
of cars clotting the streets far from
the thin vapor circling the mountain’s peak.
Music sang, faces mirrored the heat,
rigors of vacation rocked the valley,
people leaned toward one more swim, climb,
walk, meal, drink, acquaintance. I watched
us bustle about the level where we stand
but no tremor shook the mountain which
gathers the first and last banners
of the sun.