Geologic
in their repose,
memories lie
carameled by sunlight,
and captive
as the river
far below
the shale blossoms
of canyon wall,
each with cutting edge
and sandy flux,
each
the hem and panorama
for the next,
laid out
like so many bolts
of light fabric,
once ocean
and lava, once
lightning and fossil.
How regular,
explicable,
even dull
was the frenzy
when ruts glistened
and flooded,
pinnacles jutted up,
continents gave way,
Now the emptiness
is larger
than anything
that defines it.
Larger
than the tantrums
of shadow and heat.
Larger
than the other canyons
whose sunlight
is image,
whose rivers
are misgiving,
in which donkeys
also walk
slender pathways
to the floor,
despite the froth
of the rapids,
despite the ancient hurling
which set all
in motion,
despite the oily black
refulgence
of the birds,
whose open wings
hold nothing,
an immaculate crimson
unforgettable
in the stale glare
of reflection.