Windworn Things
Dark, deep in a canyon
a labyrinth of stone
a chasm, dead and cold
All full of windworn things
Walls of rock
numberless, pageless, impenetrable stories-
beckoning, bound by wind and ice
And infinite minute
Smooth, sand ground stone
edgeless, lifeless
form and shape and line
self reflective desert fragments
but
Light comes seeping-
Flowing, sweeping
Rushing and gushing
and painting
until
A canyon
Neither dead nor cold
But red and gold
Still full of windworn things.
Dark, deep in a canyon
a labyrinth of stone
a chasm, dead and cold
All full of windworn things
Walls of rock
numberless, pageless, impenetrable stories-
beckoning, bound by wind and ice
And infinite minute
Smooth, sand ground stone
edgeless, lifeless
form and shape and line
self reflective desert fragments
but
Light comes seeping-
Flowing, sweeping
Rushing and gushing
and painting
until
A canyon
Neither dead nor cold
But red and gold
Still full of windworn things.