In Gratitude to a Rock at Machu Picchu

There are times when there are
other languages to discover.

In conversation at the top of the world,
I have selected you, unpolished quarry rock,

to converse with, touching spine and bone
on your slanted outlook of granite.

We speak of mist and shadows.
Purple orchids, Pachacuti.
Exploding Stars.

Life and death, life and death.

A llama has defecated nearby,
drawing large beetles.
An ant makes a trail like a tiny mountain climber.

In deference to solid advice.

Utah Morning

Slant rock faces of sandstone kings

become gilded by morning light. 

Silhouettes against blue sky

clothed in robes of dusty ochre 

tucking shadows in crevice pockets. 

The day whispers-

here's a secret, here's a mystery

held within the tiniest pebble

the drop of rain, the swallow's nest

the footprint, the lizard, the raven.

Here's a place where earth creaked,

heaved, squeezed, folded, molded

layer upon layer of mineral sand

varnished smooth by wind fingers

in sculpture tethering a fragile tree.

Here's a place where river glitters. 

Sun stars crown waves

The ethereal entourage dances downstream

where flickery sparks flash, fade and

mercurial water kisses timeless stone.