Paul waited at Taos Gorge.
Snow fell blurring the edge.
The trail along the edge
became a bit more treacherous.
I mean the footing
became less sure for the unwary.
Paul did not move.
He felt each foot connect with stone.
Snow collected on the sage
on the ground and on his head and shoulders.
He wore a coat with a hood.
He wore hiking boots.
Standing looking out over the gorge
somehow has the power
to clean something up inside Paul.
It wicks away all his human problems.
He remained hours
and looked into the deep crack in the earth.
The snow swirled on odd air currents
affected by the rift.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney