canyon's crevice

bodies breathe alive in ways made of the sand and its silt,

moving under soil and walking feet toward the void, or a crevice,

through which we find our ways down into

as animals around fires, we speak and laugh of things past,

as humor’s living finds the meaning in what makes up the mundane and of what the buzz of a beer may bring into light, the sometimes heavy intake to then

let it go again

at first, to walk into the group and see through eyes not yet open,

of question of coming together,

who we are and who we find ourselves to be as we cross ways,

where some strings may have been anchored for a length when others may still be finding their lateral stretch

and yet, in a dire time where as one again with what we came from,

the exhaust of moving limbs,

carrying again the gear of ages that we once crossed countries with, and chasing the sun in and out of canyon’s shadow, we find again the stream that even in running will sometimes dry but that in such a place,

people may know nothing of another and yet know all they need to so that something may tie them together such as the webbing, bound to rock or tree,

sending down the cascade of humans back into her crack,

held and yet falling

to then return back to,

to a routine of living that spins the world around,

to remember again our dreams of waking, and the gears that make it turn,

to think,

to feel all the rubbings and scratches of life’s itch,

and to grow lazy in laying through it or chasing the thing that’s too far ahead,

we blink our eyes and the canyon’s crevice leaves us, becomes us, but bestills us so that another time we might come back and feel only the silence of her ways, the slots of stillness and stopped thought of an animal’s body moving through space in exertion with the pack, that it may be there, in living more together, in living around, we sleep less as we return

notes from utah’s poison spring canyon, where the animal awakens and the human stills, where our packs come back together & renew once again the well once depleting, as we chase her cracks and sit in the void of canyon’s crevice

copyright 2018 ⓒ / forrest gallagher