Farzana Marie

Eaton Canyon


Crushed sage offers incense,

an olfactory soundtrack

to clamber up pathless canyon,

clinging to shrubs and brush-roots

which cling in turn

to the soft soil of a steep life.

  

Memories, too, cling—

 

one traces child’s wonder-gaze

on caterpillar’s colored ripple

against grey pavement,

 

another tastes the after

of swallowed longing, post-holding it

for years like a hope-lozenge

under the tongue.

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