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Excerpt:
Every stone felt water. Every stone felt
water recede and the weight of earth
push down, millennia of winter,
every page in the library of things, freeze and thaw
lifting the calliope of hoodoos from the shore,
stone temples the sacred family, sandstone,
pinyon, bristle cone pines smelling of caramel
a thousand years.
Now, a mountain bluebird
lives the moment on a silver branch of pinyon,
its wings fashioned Assyrian lapis lazuli,
its breast, carnelian, rust the color sandstone, blood.
It sings the new song from ancient water, bird
small as your mouths, small as your palms, held
together today. It pulses with breath and feathers
small eyes aperture to the entire canyon and time.
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