Box Canyon Heart

There's a cold box canyon, where a heart once lived. Smooth walled with a choir of ghosts. Holding the echos of yesterday's love. where scorpions and rattlers now crawl. Ribbons of light, quill for the ghosts. Etching a strange story into the stone. In a starless language they only know. Here comes the silver drums of redemption. A cleanse born of mountain clouds. Carrying war angels and trumpets. To blow away the acidic gaze of the proud. Everything is gone now. All the venom, the stingers, the proud. The box canyon is warm and pristine again. Ready for the heart to descend. To reclaim its battle-scarred peace.