Poudre Canyon
Far away from home
We sisters join together,
merely awestruck beneath
a valley of swerving roads and sloped
canyon walls
A chilled Cutthroat porter sits nestled between my legs
in the front seat, as
I spy the eyes of my companions gazing
through the lens
of the Silver Bullet--
this glass enclosure bearing witness to
a timeless nostalgia,
an extraordinary chasm delicately descending
just nearby the continental divide
This scenery defines fecundity.
This scenery reminds of us of our fragility.
our Smallness.
here we are,
surrounded by rugged, gargantuan walls
that suggest both intimidation
and comfort--
because it is here we are free.
it is here we are proved that our ties are continued,
kept together by an invisible string
across changing states and time zones,
expressways,
suburban neighborhoods,
and forests,
we find our way back to each other.
we stop at an unoccupied site off road and dip our toes
into the rushing river, a fisherman
downstream
waist deep - lost in the Tao -
or perhaps Found.
Howard makes friends with the locals.
Here we stand,
nothing but the whistling of wind
and river songs, still
encapsulated by the glacial debris before us.
all i taste is clean air.
But where is home?
Perhaps it is wherever
our hearts reside - together
through grief, blurred nights, shared pieces
of life,
across borders,
through states,
and
driving through the poudre...
we find our way back
to each other.
- o.b.