GRAND CANYON

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,

and tawny limbs

of earth

crashed together

and held.

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,

despite the sunlight

swarming

across the valley,

an immaculate crimson

unforgettable

in the stale glare

of reflection.