for my father
searchlight eye
of the chipped scarred moon
scoring alleys of sandstone
canyons I’ve skirted white
and deep as graves
fins
like
inbred
teeth
offering narrow corners
of relief from the incessant
moonlight
the spaced-out cackles
of mountain lions
echo off slickrock
everything here so smooth
and shiny in the night
fingerholds
descend
into shadow
tap, tap, tapping
at the arch
of refuge until
it shatters
Published in Junction (Utah), October 2003
©Beth Partin 2003. All rights reserved.
