21/05/2024
Here is a poem I wrote one evening as I crawled into my sleeping bag below the Redwall Limestone cliff in Grand Canyon. Now I am 80 years old and I don't get down there anymore.
--Dave
Night Under the Redwall
A faded spread on top
As evening bleaches the day.
There are pillows with head-hole shadows
And dark bodies beneath.
Your ruddy shoulder is ultimate red;
Like a waning moon the crack narrows.
Feel the weight of the bedding.