In Bryce Canyon burnt ochre sandstone
lazes in sunlight like an arrow line
leading to hidden caves of bleak
antique beauty where time evaporates
like a dwindling puddle on gray slate.
Minarets of stone pray to passing clouds.
A solitary pine stands augustly proud.
Retaining walls remain required blasphemy.
Hard yellow clay and crushed white quartz
appear to host few ants and spiders.
Low clouds gently embrace black lava rocks.
Amid aridity lurks mysterious fertility.
Reminded we are a part of nature,
we realize our impermanence and
inclination to delusion as we attempt
to anthropomorphize angular rocks,
amorphous clouds moving hearts to wonder.