land of straight up canyon
old, old river took it down
moved the grains, mud and stone
elsewhere making flowers
once a well worn people,
crouching in rabbit skins
threw blessings on the breeze,
smoked in willow huts,
ate corms where scars of fire
kept things clean,
now
people honk when i slow to spot
a canyon wren
and listen for its downward song
