By Will Falk
the canyon where I wander
seems empty to me
I am
wondering where to go
wondering what the canyon
will do with me
wondering at the emptiness of it all
burnt orange reaches to blue
where the stones hold the sky
the stones’ strong hands
are the only hands sure enough
to carry the sky
then the wind blows
and the stones sing
the melody plays on
orange rock formations
the thick, tall fingers
cracking in time
snapping in rhythm
it knocks me flat on my back
the strong, sure hands stack
the rock of my skull
on the rock of the canyon floor
criss-crossing the bones of me
with the bones of the desert
bone on bone, stone on stone
forming a cairn
and in the stacking
I am cracked open
and poured out
pooling with the shade
against canyon walls
and in the cracking
the canyon is no longer empty
it is filled with me
as the sun sets and
the sky turns a heavier black
the stones give me back to myself
I stand up and look around
I see the remainders of a cairn
and I remember
a cairn shows where to go
I normally begin each day with poetry. Today, life got in the way, so I end it with poetry. I am filled with the poetry and the poetry is filled with me. Thanks Will.
A poem a day keeps the psychiatrist away, Anna!
thanks for reading