I came to a canyon
one autumn evening,
parched.

I was deserted
on one side,
distant from you in
sienna barrenness,
amongst bubbling grey boulders.
I felt desperate, like a beetle
being squished between rattler jaws,
fangs of fate chewing out chances to grow,
to fully bud above the rest,
to push past the heat
like cacti greeting the purple sunset sky.

You were on the other side
making the grass wave in your wind,
painting hills with dainty dandelions
and dancing mushrooms,
to cover up the reeking decay
of your last relationship,
the decomposition
of dear flesh,
of rotten opportunity,
the true will of degeneration
still not stopping your junipers and ferns.

And in the middle,
below the drama,
time’s rushing river
worms it’s way through rock,
forcing chasm, yet
somehow encourages flourishing,
and quenches our thirst.