the canyon

aidrove through the high chapparal yesterday
it's true, purple sage and aspens vast vistas, like cowboys
would appear driving cattle or mending
iconic stack wood fences.

in the distance, wind farms and mountains
mostly sage, mesquite, juniper.
here's something pictures don't capture:
you don't sweat. wind constantly licks water
from your skin. it all leads up to clouds
that won't cry, moving softly over the canyon sky.

you think you're hot you think
the rain would fall, moisture
seeks the lowest point.
the desert tells you you're wrong.
but this is not desert. this is desert's
cousin, where green litters red rocksides
and clouds melt and build
in askin somewhere above
this cavity of earth.

stand on the rim, look down
into that vast deepness, the juniper
clinging to the side whispers like the ocean.
and far below a stripe of blue
representing water, reflecting sky



* if you were waiting for an accident this is the place to find one. vertigo hides behind every hand rail. you feel the jumble of bones incipient.


these vistas belong to the world
hollywood brought them to us
now we flock from all corners to gape at something we could not create
to such scale. see it for yourself



clouds just planted a kiss on my hand
wind swirls like a dizzy mazurka
a few more drops, she's on spillage roll.
whining high as she slips through the flagstaff.
it's not so much rain as clouds, bleeding
out, torn by the winds they create

come sunset they will get all sacred
invoke native gods
much weaker than guns.,br/> water tease.




*****

at the rim, three women stand side by side
backs against the guardrail, hands held high
in the classic selfie pose. there is a man
facing them with his own camera
taking pictures of them taking pictures
of themselves. the canyons yawn
behind them.



*****


the bus runs every ten minutes. they get crowded quickly. a french family boards, smelling of europe. they speak in broken english to their american host, who explains slowly how much cheaper primitive camping is even though it will be dark because of the high fire hazard. wind blows pinion pines into ocean sound, but fire roars. a japanese american family with five children have to stand in the aisle. they squeeze together , giggling as they roll against each other at each start and stop. a toddler begins to cry, wants to sit in mommy's lap, not daddy's. do something, shut that kid up a woman in a tie dye t shirt mutters. indeed, we're all hot and tired by now overwhelmed with a sense of longing for the inside of the canyon. vast stretchest no human could inhabit. passing through. in the crowds on the top, in the packed busses those vistas represent heaven, unattainable. we can only stand at the edge and yearn.