Shades from the Chasm

Gazing down At Bright Angel Trail, I see no angels here—
only shades from the chasm: hikers dutifully descending
into hells of their own creation, then plodding upward again,
as in a Doré Purgatory; naked terraces laid down long ago
like the backbones of ancient sea creatures; swallows darting
across the layers like thoughts too fleet to recall; splashes
of red in the receding scarps of canyon walls
like wounds of a bleeding earth.

Originally published July 2015, at Wilderness House Literary Review   http://www.whlreview.com/no-10.2/poetry/GeneTwaronite.pdf

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