Farzana Marie
Eaton Canyon
Crushed sage offers incense,
an olfactory soundtrack
to clamber up pathless canyon,
clinging to shrubs and brush-roots
which cling in turn
to the soft soil of a steep life.
Memories, too, cling—
one traces child’s wonder-gaze
on caterpillar’s colored ripple
against grey pavement,
another tastes the after
of swallowed longing, post-holding it
for years like a hope-lozenge
under the tongue.