Hour 3

Creativity is a Cabyon

A canyon has no bottom
the wind through madrone
tastes of orange bark.
The wind is
a massive whispering family tree.
Listen to the madrone.
The canyon of fault lies between sisters.
Step away
dance
in the shedding pony moon.
The pony moon of tomorrow
dances away with the sword sun
that shines down on my formless body.
I dream of shades of tangerine sorbet
as la luna de la mer sings of a lullaby
down to the opening canyon walls.