Grand Canyon, South Rim
Some lucky strata of earth becoming less secret
and more laid bare, a room of wasn't.
The lack of want, the tired so many dark
rolled away. Prayer candles. Dial mark.
The sun breaks, shadow on your double wound,
lovely. A freckle fair. We are beyond
it, into the blue. From way up, a groove
I run my finger over, a little dose of proof
I guess: with enough height, even an end
is okay, a room as regular as my kitchen.
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