The sun chases the clouds
chasing the wind
at the edge of hidden.
We chase the sheep, the claws, the dots
etched into shiny sparkle black
back into a memory I can almost reach,
humming inside the rock.
Fingertips trail a wall
out to the point and slab of ocean floor
so perfect a platform
bathed in alternations of shadow and light
and spinning forceful gusts.
Suddenly, it's the brink of the world;
everything the universe contains is in front of us,
rolling for miles and miles of stone and sky.
We become giddy with discovery,
an ancient ring of rock and then another,
a holy shrine on this holy spine thrust into desert air.
The earth tilts
and the light turns golden, soft.
Clouds convene and settle in the west.
The wind becomes my own breath
and exhales a long, contented sigh.
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