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First Light at Bryce Canyon
by Diane Westergaard

An archaeology of harmony
plays against apricot cliffs of the mind,
song of a stark desert heart.
In a land of geologic cathedrals
this is Saint Chapelle.
Still showing mercy, the early sun
creates a momentary mirage
of ice on the tips
of limestone hoodoos, candles
that rise from a buried
carboniferous dawn.
Under a sky, deep as lobelia
in a midsummer garden,
we can only shiver.


 

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