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Show S3 Somewhere, sometime Again, the canyon alone, undifferentiate urge balanced only on two long legs, wandering, in pursuit of no quarry but silence, no motive except to be away. Sandstone, we call it: Entrada, Navajo, Kayenta, Wingate: buff, cream, rust, sienna oxidized rose: colors approximate in language, hard to pin down as the feeling they evoke, rising above like fossil thunderheads, sculptures of a falling heaven. Sand, sand, sand crystalline silica rasping grainy infinitesimal under my soles, bright and packed and gleaming as stars at the galaxy's center. Dreams leave coyote tracks, delicate in floodplain clay and coyote appears and vanishes, untouchable as dream a. glimpse of silver, ghosting in the void between willow and tamarisk. |
