Box Canyon Heart
There's a cold box canyon, where a heart once lived.
Smooth-walled with a choir of ghosts.
Holding the echoes 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 come the silver drums of redemption.
A cleansing born of mountain clouds.
Carrying war angels and trumpets.
To blow away the acidic gaze of the proud.
Everything is long gone now.
All the venom, the stingers, the proud.
The box canyon is warm and pristine again.
Ready for the good heart to descend.
To reclaim its battle-scarred peace.
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