Cold water curls and cascades
Splashing our faces, drenching our bodies.
On the other side of riffles and cobbled rocks
We slap the boatman’s back: relax, laugh.
The green mile wraps it lovely arms
Around boulders, downstream
In the canyon agave flowers “pup” out rosettes
And at dusk, the sacred white Datura blooms.
I watch Lauren row in a subtle, delicate manner
Reading the water, finessing hydraulics, dodging boat-sucking holes.
She is at home and bound to her boat with a calm and
Passion, only a Grand Canyon boatwoman knows.
In this ancient terrain, I cannot grasp the vastness, or
The magnitude of time in the millions of years echoed in
Layers of rock, cliffs and slopes.
I can only make a grand sweep of my hand, majestically
Across the land and say
A masterpiece of this scale, the desert, mountains
River, are uplifting gifts of deep mystery, history
And the memories we made here, exist now…but will disappear
Like rain that evaporates
Before reaching the ground.