by David Chorlton
When you call into Echo Canyon
and your voice gets lost
not even the sky will hear it ask
for directions. Only the heat climbs this far
on a day like today
when the thrashers are calling and the hummingbirds
sparkle. It’s beautiful
among the rocks
where cacti smile through their needles
and mesquite keep a foothold
on the steepest slopes. There’s a broad
vista from trail’s end, but
it takes water to reach it and only
the coyotes know
where to find it. If waves of light
suddenly distort everything
around you, forget the long journey that brought you
here, never mind the fare it cost or
the promise of a good time from the man
you came to meet in person, who
so casually climbs beyond your reach: turn
back. If you’re lucky
a lizard will show you the way.
If you’re lucky.
David Chorlton is a transplanted European, who has lived in Phoenix since 1978. His poems often reflect his affection for the natural world. A new book of older poems, Unmapped Worlds, is out from FutureCycle Press. He recently took up watercoloring again, after twenty dry years.
