San Pedro River Valley
Today I glance at my environs, where
The ether and amber of new uprisings have melted together.
(I have settled myself into a grey and brown expanse
Where King Arthur's sword avails not against smooth and liquid laughter.)
The fate of my safety depends upon a collapse into the sleeveless dreams of belief.
That marriage with the bottled earth took place
With resentment and searing pain, twinned in all time.
I believe I am blind to the surface of their awful haste.
Dead seraphim, guilt-ridden, grasping at enchantment in the
Faces of babies -- worldless and memorialized -- have fostered
Screaming jets whose many-colored angers draw me to
Places of panicked shivers.
I must essay the river's crossing, slipping on unnerving stones.
Nothing began this journey but awful hope.
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