The desert is ablaze. Fine sand fire’s tips.
Lake Powell the blue root- alluring. Most
beautiful. Swiveled red rock soaked with
calcium carbonate. White rings of eternity
striped across rock faces. Then us.
Our glides between sweat beaten canyons,
your whisper “I feel small out here.” In
that North Carolina accent you attempt to
“enunciate” away. Burn and bury back in
the south. And forget, except to pause on
whether your parents who sent first aid kits,
flashlights, bug repellent and food still smile.
Erect on Crappie’s ledge, noon sun traces where
my hands drip at night. Over your shaven head, spills
onto your bare tattooed chest. You spring off, dive
head first into deep blue. I flick sand with my feet
that swirls like flecks of gold then sinks, I follow.
splash into the fire of newness that consumes- leaves