Thoughts of Stone

Familiar cracks in the earth,
admired by almost everyone,
have gaped into garish canyons
admired by no one but me.
Yes, I willed these ugly fissures
to critique the aging process,

which is geological rather
than biological: rock, not flesh.
We’re complicit with the planet
so you should help me explore
the depth and winding of one
bold canyon, chosen at random.

Daylight fades as we descend.
The trail we follow looks old
and beaten by hoofs although
the crack only widened hours
ago, the fresh earth-smell
still ripe and smiling. Bedrock

in yellow and crimson layers
offers pockets of brilliant crystals
museums would love to collect.
At the bottom a river gushes
with a sense of freedom we envy.
The twilight even at noon

encourages us to undress
and splash about like children.
But the serious thoughts of stone
have replaced our slim libidos
with a sense of purpose too thick
and slow for our minds to process.