In the northeast corner of Arizona

I stood disbelieving and
gazed at volcanic mounds;
vast turtles squatting
across the drab plain -
scored in increments
of epochs sculpted
by weightless hands.

Time was unuttered -
the voices of others
sucked into the emptiness
besieging us.
At my feet tiny stones
were cobbled
and murmured entreaties
to my avid heart, its
grounding mantled in
a mosaic of random ideas.

Several jumped into my pocket
and rattled for the rest of the day.


© 2001 Melissa Songer