Echoes

Just below the cliff’s edge now.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Suspended,
Almost motionless.
Weaver’s Needle looms in the distance
As the desert bowl of dust
Fills the vastness below.
A soaring eagle calls out,
Like the voice inside that spurs you on.
And you can taste
The echoes of morning’s dewy blackberries.



2/7/06