there is something here that cannot be seen
through mired eyes
it is a mix of sage and tang
a redrock jumble
cleared away and thrown up high
as if on stage
it is a desert green
not green to someone new
it is a slowly burning soil
come down long ago
from a lacquered canyon wall
wishing, only wishing,
to be pressed open
in the wide wings of a horsehair brush
to become again, a part
of another hue and cry
facing outward
to another and a different set of eyes
perhaps a squarish kite could see it
8 1/2 ' lengths of tether arcing up
the warm persistence of a barometric truth
crackling in colored vessels open to the air
perhaps a kite could see it
a buoyant and an eyeless view
from some on high
not high enough
to beat out the canyon rims
in altitude