Returning from the summit when he could

look down at the twisting canyon,

when he needed to brake hard

to hold the hairpin turns,

he began to weep over the steering wheel

of his small, travel worn car,

not knowing why he was weeping,

only that a wrong –

large and profound as

the huge boulders on the cliffs

and embankments jutting below him –

had been committed


Tears spotting his eyeglasses he braked

and skidded into a turnaround,

side casting dust and gravel to a stop,

shouldered open the door,

stood with his elbows on the roof of the car,

jaws held and centered by his hands,

weeping until he cried himself clear

and could overlook the vastness

of evergreen, aspen, stone and stream,

the depth of the gorge,

could see from that view

the incomprehensible history of the earth