Saturday, April 10, 2010

Foggy Canyon

From the precipice a fog blanket,
thick and opaque and still and gray,
eclipses the chasm below.

The trail, steep and narrow
limestone path of muley mud,
dives out of sight into the mist,
beckoning.
I follow its blind lead,
blinking in wet air below.
Gray leads into gray,
five, six, eight feet ahead,
canyon grandeur captured in a
small mist box.

Ahead, low mountain sage grows,
its trumpet flower hanging gold in still air.
Hummingbirds hum below the mist
as the sun breaks the canopy wide,
penetrating the canyon.
Morning wakes,
delayed as a lover who stays
for one more caress as he leaves the bed
rejuvenated, vitae interruptus,
resuming life again.

Looking under the cloud, I--
open-mouthed with wonder--
see cliffs and plateaus,
temples and spires,
Kaibab limestone above,
Vishnu schist below,
Rio Colorado below,
sun-broken cloud above,
see them again
as if for the first time.

--by Steven Burns