Sean Ferrier-Watson
Caprock Canyon

We climb among the caprocks, shoes sinking
in the rich red soil, the great pillars of earth and clay
            poised like toy soldiers above us,
            rifles loaded with cacti,
            little barbs that catch the flesh unexpected;
                        exhausted,
                        cold,
we hike the last crag
the summit unfolding to reveal the face of shattered landscape,
            a twisted monument to a forgotten flood;
            in the distance
the city bleeds,
the faint outline of roads carved like veins
through the earth, suburbia not far behind;
a red-tailed hawk perches near us,
oblivious, his purpose, unlike ours, is well known;
far off a horn honks in the deep,
an RV scaring deer from its path,
and we,
exhausted, cold,
make our descent.

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