Up here along the ridge of the canyon
it is easy to relax and goof off,
which suits me just fine.
Once I was a vehicle the universe employed
to do a certain job it seems it had to do:
run around in circles till it was time
to either stop or drop.
Now I stroll the ridge in a straight line,
happy to be going nowhere in particular,
just walking into each vanishing moment
and disappearing one step at a time.
Behind me, I sometimes hear voices.
They fade in and out like a car radio station
you can’t quite tune in — maybe an Oldies station
where the static clouds the lyrics, but part of you
still remembers them anyway.
Perhaps you are tempted to sing along,
even if it feels silly — to just sing out loud
down into the canyon, and have a voice
you barely recognize softly echo back.
Other times, the wind pauses for moment
and everything gets very still. In that sudden
breathless silence you slowly lift your gaze
to the enormous sky, rolling on and on.
In the scheme of things, at last
you know your place.