Descend Like a particle of dust … .. . Landing on a *****, A steep curve sharp as a knife. A white car, backpacks, a guitar, Sing life to the rims of the empty canyon The sound returns It echoes like circadian drums. A chasm, a fold in your bedsheets, The space between you and your mother. It divulges words of a great marble book, Dialogue in dissonance Pages upturned, eager to be read by the sun. We run our hands along Stories carved in this valley of jaggedness, Seeking horizon lines Under oceans of stone. Mist falls Through the sleeping cusp between two gray shale wings of the deepest river canyon, Weaving strings of glacial waters Like topographic canticles.
An internal breathlessness Guides us by maps written In shards of glass. Rhythms of instinct Pull me forward Yet the blade on her hand Collapses me in profound solitude. .