Canyonlands

The wind speaks gusty whispers 
Sucks at my thick milkshake innards 
As with a straw 
Before me spreads 
A vast empire of timelessness 
Of birth and death 
Birth and death 
Birth and death 
Far below the trail of the ancients 
Barely scars the surface 
Carved by many footsteps 
My footsteps 
The trail of the hunted 
The trail of the hunter 
Forever playing the game 
Of survival, struggle and dependence 
It is this quest that I daily partake 

Two black ravens caw 
In call and response format 
From deep down in 
The rough mesa below 
Before long they are above me 
Circling, uncomfortably close
The world is completely quiet 
Except their wings 
Whistling through the air 
My ears tack sharp 
As if I can hear distinctly 
Each molecule pass through 
All the strands on every feather 

Sitting on this rim of consciousness 
Above the abyss that’s 
Delicately sprinkled with snow 
All the nooks and crannies are filled 
As sugar on an old weathered picnic table 
The winter sun throws weak light 
At a low horizontal angle 
Elongated shadows stretch 
Toward the approaching night 
Soon all the heat will dissipate 
Leaving cold and bitterness 
Only the campfire I build 
Can keep my spirit 
From rising with the coyotes howl 
Off into eternity