hiking a pile of red rock

(February 2022. Written in Anza-Borrego after leaving Quintin’s birthday party. Happy Birthday, Quintin. I love you and I believe in you.)

hiking a pile of red rock
mountain of upward crumble
i think i will turn back
but look the rocks go
higher i can go higher

i am here
high enough
to go higher.

the sun is behind a higher peak
so i ascend.

i love the dance
from rock to rock running.
agua caliente can wait.

the rocky shores of rhode island
are here under rock running feet
in southern california.

it is my friend’s birthday
and i am alone again
celebrating.

the crows float over me
effortless in desert wind
with the wind
and consider me quawking
and hover curious
communicating in clicks
to me.

they say what i imagine.

i flow up and down
rocks a stride a boulder
i glide like the crows
the rocks my wind
the feet my wings
the breath my float.

i am high over many folds
of rocky wrinkles
tan and canyoned.

there is screaming
or a cheer if i believe,
the wind is howling
high pitched through
the instrumental earth.

the whistle through the organ
of the canyon curves
rising to my ears
from far below
sounds like someone
slowly eaten alive.

i must stop writing now
almost as high as i can nearly see

the wind pushes me upwards
from the desert to the peak.