Red Rocks

The cool stone enfolds us. Unfolds rumblings of history in smooth crevices and lichen-bathed wrinkles. The water knows to flow around, senses the precious grains to be preserved. We are among the organisms benefiting from the rolling and shaping of the steep striated walls. We scurry through groves and tamp red dirt beneath cloth and rubber, our soles stepping where our souls meet warm air and the cool breath of the canyons.
We inhale with you.

We drift into your riparian slumber and sigh with the pines
balancing
clinging
resting
on speckled ledges speaking volumes of time. I am crying into your creek, my word for the clouds' tears flowing through this artery of the earth. The whispers overtake the silence and we hold the space of the stone in the hollows of our backs. We cradle it inversely, we are cradled infinitely.

Your rumbling slumber awakens my heart and I lay back down to absorb the clouds trees water stone in the place you cracked me open and drained the doubt, the hurry, the fierce sorrow.

I lean into the universe as it envelops me in its beginnings.