Who screamed into the exquisite canyon of your soul,
their voice echoing in every iron-streaked corner
for ages and ages hence?
Was it someone who leaned too close over the precipice of its beauty
and in a breathless stupor fell, screaming
all the way down to the river?
Did they lose their head,
their sanity shattering on the immovable boulder of your innocence?
Did their knuckles break and bloody
on the gentle soil that knew only wildflowers and sage?
Did the fall strip them of their dignity
their hairy, beastly body plummeting naked past the deer?
How loudly they must have screamed
as they disappeared into your beauty
leaving nothing behind but an echo in every corner.
Copyright © Jack Webster | Year Posted 2018
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