Mid-Mourning
The lip of the canyon crumbles
in longing showering the lower vegetation
with the grit of rock tears.
The sky mourns for the face of the earth
seeing its own fate it brings forth
a silent rain from the depth of puffy white.
The wind, full of abandon and lust weaves its tendrils
over the cliff face and between crevices of its unspent loins.
Sun’s fire incessantly burns consuming
all in its wanton wake.
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