Monday, March 28, 2016

the dry canyon

the dry canyon
    over bones and bleached
    branches, a never wide enough
    trail, filling in footprints
    with dust and scree
initials
    wearing away, so high    
    on broken bramble walls
    a cairn piled, reaching up
    against time, wordless
naming
    like forgotten ancestors in sepia
    this too was watered
    all cottonwood and willow
    fish and drinking deer
the moon
    will not abandon her watch
    moving shadows softly
    along the walls, opening
    and closing the rock bound story

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