Boquillas Canyon Nocturne Draft 2

This draft is a revised version of my previous poem.

Once, in the deep basin bordered

by Boquillas’ Pillars structured

like Cathedral Domes was a night

 

free from scaly moonlight,

and floating through the murky dark ceiling

were sights I don’t deserve to see,

 

luminous stars so serenely

burning like the fireflies they are,

donning their surreal forms

 

of pearlescent glowworms

shining blue and green whilst

clinging to their darkened cave,

 

no longer the many meek slaves

of the raging sun’s stinging rays

that launch their torments

 

on my nape while riding the currents

that have tumbled over stones

eroded smooth, but still gilded

 

in the earthen soot of dust crushed

from other canyon pillars now carried

and harried by the raging wind

 

who still claws through the air when

his solar king is vanished and lunar

empress has retired. Now I can

 

hear boulders, pebbles and sand

carried along as I was carried along

to this spot where I’m still awake

 

after the coldly cracked embers forsake

their warmth to choke on the cooling

river’s blood plucked from the same vein

 

my canoe rode through since the dawn’s reign.

I wonder what heart I’m paddling to,

under the silken blue tapestries

 

now slipped from their vaults in pieces

so that the chorus of pilgrim crickets,

hermit owls, and the eremite river

 

harmonize to resound ever clearer,

upward to the angelic glowworms,

as a euphoniously chaotic symphony.

 

This is the heart, I know with certainty

I belong here. Though an undeserving

audience, I am a welcomed witness,

 

unbound by numb and drowsy rest

to capture this fleeting moment

before the sun’s dreaded ascent.

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Any helpful criticisms are appreciated.