box canyon reverie

i walked

i floated in my mind

by my spirit

i got to the end of the dry canyon

the trek was jagged on many planes

i stumbed on the vertical

lost my equilibrium on the angular,

of a tilting center of gravity

the granite is my footstool below

and my citadel surrounding me

its sunlit halls inlaid with shadow above

are a guide as i trudge through rifts of layered rock

like steps forming towers of solitude,

rising monoliths reflecting magnitude

of the glory of a shining sun,

yet yielding clefts of sheltering shade,

warm and welcoming by morning light,

though ruefully hot,

fatiguing by relentless heat

to cruelest burning ’til sunset

the inclines stretched my body length

making my tendons scream,

forcing me to reach with utmost strain,

not quite able to grasp a hold,

instability sent me headlong into the pull,

of gravity’s invisible magnet

where nothin's felt in the fall

other than helplessness

and pain of a void,

were it not for blue celestial sky,

in the aftermath,

to comfort me,

just like failed friendships,

of those who abandon you,

when their wants,

for creature needs are expired,

by your inability to further satisfy,

their lusts

the angels will affirm,

the devils laughed,

i took a few tumbles

of humiliating falls,

to get here

i will not go back from which i came,

i refused to look back,

fearing to see,

like to on lot’s wife’s face,

like the time i looked,

into what must have been,

eyes like hers

and felt the deepest abyss,

even now,

makes my soul to tremble

the pinion tree produces a sweet bit of food

a tiny nut that tastes like tannins and oils,

is what i ate at trail’s end for the night,

. . . they are hard to extract

from the dried hard cracks in the hull

but worth every scratch, nick and pinch,

yet, to do again repeatedly,

akin to a famished masochist,

for the prize of the interum's tasty interum

does induce for the pain to endure,

relished morsels sacred scarce,

for those with patience,

or starved like me

and the likes of rodents free

for the quest of this precious seed,

that tastes like the desert i’m in,

dry and yet refreshing,

because it’s quiet here

as quiet as the scraggly shrubs

that grow without complaint,

alongside the ground owl,

providing it with shade,

shared with the likes of me,

whose ragged head,

now stares in solitude,

under the stars and fliting bat,

whose squeal of chirps,

keeps my senses on hight alert,

despite the seeming peacefulness

the bottom of this creek,

by stars' light i contemplate

for lack of chores to do,

i surmise carried the flow of water,

months a while back,

if not years of long ago

no telling where and when

there was a drought

that caused this silt that’s soft

of finest particles by wind to flow,

into an artist's palette

for my fingertip to indulge

it now becomes a fine bed

upon which to lay

my head sustained

provides the chance

to send my eyes skyward,

watching for the shooting stars,

or shining beings who dwell,

in the blue black of white,

speckled atmosphere

the mesquite fire crackles low,

reddish coals on a yellow bed

with tinges of baby blue,

the hot auras of their lips

lick the residue,

hungry for what’s left,

before they turn to ash,

of life will soon bereft

the coyotes yelp and snarl in their pack

off on a distant plane,

they’re hungry, down for mischief

they keep time with the desert night

the bluish light,

of the dome,

of midnight sky,

over my head,

is clear

it is a large expanse

ready to receive conversation

with lowly humble me

i raise my voice to highest heaven

i’m ready to give him my complaints,

mingled with my compliments,

of the things i've learned today

for the things i’ve tasted of,

for the friendships i have made,

with the plants and rocks,

with the birds and bugs

and the creatures everywhere,

i’ve stepped along today

for the simple knowledge

that the Lord is here with me,

always has been,

always will be,

and for his love for me