My eyes drink the fractal patterns of clouds
over canyons from thirty thousand feet.
I gauge depth and estimate soil hardness.
"That white layer of stone, it's hard like bone.
And the red -- it's a soft blanket -- like flesh"
My eyes trace the sharp edge, where violence
of time pushed the red soil back from the bone
and broke through the barrier to softer --
softer
stone
below.
My lips thicken; my hand touches my neck.
It has the same declination
as the butte wall.
I am dizzy with the pounding rhythm
of the crenellated edges -- stunned
into a trance.
Earth and water command my eyes to dance.
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