the moon follows me
haunts my soul till blood burns bright
circle of love, hope
unadvertised grunt
standing, waiting, buses, crowds
in national parks
yes, the view is grand
if streams of tourists wait
rather than push, shove
green river bottom
whiny pine cone crunching walk
patience slowly comes
what will they recall
twenty years, many paths hence?
the waiting canyon?
or jubilant chants
away from home, friends, phones, games
(they make their own games)
it’s all a game, right
to see nature carve her art
humans: dumbfounded
you said that before
the phrase defining rim walk
(how short, flat, this hike)
one day they will know
that we live thirteen hours
from the Grand Canyon
thirteen million years
of miracles waiting here
beyond this short hike
they’ll remember this
(and Eiffel, Spain, Porto, love)
all we’ve given them
the hike will seem short
flat, greenway, wheelchair-friendly
so easy, this life
thirteen years a mom
they’ll remember this spring break
miracles in view
torn between worlds
oldest loves her phone, sisters
gives in, goes to bed
she watches their play
with a slightly jealous eye
fantasy now lost
found only in books
or over a campfire
she joins them in tent
she still loves camping
sets the table like Mama
an organized queen
she gives in to catch,
to wood-walking fantasy
(Riona’s a horse)
(but she’s almost me
we share the same shoe size now
her eyes switch places)
if i could capture
her in my womb (my last trip
to the Grand Canyon)
she’d be my baby
in my belly, on my back
trails, trials of love
the moon’s almost there
as are we, building marriage
us: more than half full
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