Hidden Canyons

by Heather Green

Three days after,

there is only a thought of it left,

but I cannot divorce it—

the narrow canyons press in,

push forward, climb higher.

Always look up,

never wonder if we might

have to move back—

retreat, submit

to the cliffs that grow taller

with each telling,

each passing exaggerating

the deep pools of spring water.

Squeeze through caves,

feel the way along shallow

grooves of sandstone

to ropes of light,

to the surface, to air.

It is like drowning—

drowning in too much sky,

too little room,

and too many possibilities.

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