WEBVTT

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I become the canyon,
its dreaming eye.

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In the last days of
my marriage to God,

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I descended their spiraled
library relentlessly navigating

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stacks of shell tempered
mortuary offerings,

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sandstone sores
recovered from the caves.

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I lingered on history's
worn stone steps

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to write these things,
to recollect myself.

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What had I unburied?

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What had I freed?

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And what is freedom from the
human need to catalog and clock

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our porous lodes?

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I gazed, eyes closed, at
the moon's cratered walls.

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Spiders encircled me
spinning their silks

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as I listened to the
tuning suspension

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of the underground particle
colliders vibrating

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between silence and motion.

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By midnight, saplings had
sprouted from my hand.

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The clouds dissolved
into semicolons.

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And I with them into a new
language of branching gestures.

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Airborne spores from one
infinitesimal thread,

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a pattern.

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It was my first act
of disappearance.

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I would return before
anyone noticed poems

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to be found in the
forest, not the mind.

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There's a canyon between
this version of me,

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and the shadow on the
stairs that is mine.

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I became this canyon,
its dreaming eye.

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