ilent, I drift between geologic layers,
like stacks of weathered parchment,
tablets towered;
a record of all life since planetary birth,
and grow aware that
beyond these stacks are infinite others
marking the mollusk, the millipede, the carp,
the reptile, bird, nautiloid,
the Anasazi, the deer
Adam and Eve.
I imagine all the civilizations' monuments
fortresses, temples, tombs, tabernacles,
the statuary of every human endeavor;
grand edifices, thrones, battlements,
castles, caverns, columns
of the Inca, Buddhist, Mayan, Aztec,
Egyptian, Tibetan, European, Asian and
Neanderthal,
there in relief in rock.
I dream of the dark core of the earth,
the billion year bones of prelife,
Precambrian upheaval,
tectonic cataclysm,
the sooty layer of eradication,
rebirth in compressed, crenulated molten centuries,
upon centuries,
upon centuries.
I feel a hot dragon breath, blasting wind,
hurled sand powder the color of dried flesh,
and ride a bursting Goliath river
powering through rock.
It roars like thunder,
explodes like novas,
swirls,
frigid, silty brown;
it's serpentine,
cold-blooded even at rest.
The canyon whispers in the ruins
of ancient dwellers, holy places,
abandoned granaries, mines,
shattered boats, dreams and clay pottery,
secret gardens, private Edens,
star-sprinkled nights; sings in
Canyon wren song, guitar chords and
companions.
Silent again, I drift.
I behold the visage of God
and understand—
all becomes stone.

Marion Boyer