At the Grand Canyon

The fence is nothing.

Hewn lumber, semi-thick posts driven into the hard, red earth.

Painted dull, lifeless, faded white.

You could jump in.  Nothing could stop you.

There are ways down, certainly, there are paths down.

But it seems appealing to leap, to fall, to fail at flying but fly for a moment.

It is a sight — vast and deep, a finite endlessness

The scene of a drained ocean that, once immersed, fills one with breathlessness.

As I trace along the edge of it a path of steps,

Listening to the soft sound of the land against the soles of my shoes —

It crunches, crunches, crunches — I think how I feel about this encounter.

At the deepest points and furthest stretches across I feel desire,

Desire to die in the vast expanse of it, to reach the center basin and be a single point.

I’d die in a splatter wearing a bright green shirt so people would see me maybe.

I’d be a secret, morbid Christmas gift to those aware. 

At the narrow ends,

Narrow by comparison,

I wish I had the strength to bound across it to the other side

And land amongst the photographing couple,

They’d show a slide show of me a black spec growing with each snapshot,

And the last picture a cloud of dust, the human meteor crashing.

I think this as I walk, imagine it, it becomes a seeming reality,

I know both outcomes and both options as if I’ve lived them.

And when the wind picks up slightly and the rushing sound catches to my ears

I find I’m back where I began. 

I look out across the Grand Canyon.

It is a sight.