ANTELOPE CANYON
by Marilyn Ball
Likely God saw the earth, a swirling mass,
turbulent and wild. Arms lifted, He reached
the whole, encasing all with passion peculiar,
placed it in the right confluence of the universe.
Each end of earth a trifle pointed, He said.
The middle greatness--equator.
Letting go, a step back, He decided to peel
earth’s crust, tipped this sphere upside down,
tapped, thrust, serenely set it right: great pieces
of the shell fell away, deep cracks appeared
where birth of the southwest slot canyons
were born and opened.
Sequestered by high red stone walls, one serpentine
walkway through—He stepped along, saw the light
of pink-cream beauty, a sacred, golden glow
painting the huge up thrust walls.
Meandering past curves, juts of stone, He caressed
each a last time, felt the chilled, rough stones rest.
Using His fingers, sanded a rock in the shape of a heart,
then walked on—out into the sun…
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