Sunday, December 16, 2012

A canyon called Box

We come to a canyoned place
with the odd name of Box,
once a cave, perhaps, until geology
crushed its roof and opened its water
to course for eternity. Broken souls
stumbling in wilderness, walking
into a terrible layered beauty
of sharp colors, jagged piercing
ridges and sides, center points
tearing at our self-sown shrouds.

We walk: alcoholic, addict, convict,
poet, inhaling dust of generations,
the stream beside us the eyes of God
watering the sorrow of the earth.

Photograph by L.L. Barkat.


Maureen said...

L.L.'s photo is so evocative. I can feel and see why it moved you to write your poem. Your line "the stream beside us the eyes of God" is lovely.

Louise Gallagher said...

I too find that line piercing and lovely.

Thank you L.L. and Glynn -- so beautiful and heartfelt.

Anonymous said...


Megan Willome said...

Been there. When I was young, I didn't notice the beauty.