at Eden’s birth you weren’t Jemez
at Gethsemane’s death maybe
your evolving canyon walls
chiseled by wind and spring waters
valleys of antiquity beckoning
rattlesnakes spiders lizards
Pueblo Indians and pioneers
a creation of every tomorrow’s
bleached bones
adobe walls
missionary crosses
this hot blue sky dry day
road runners play in tumbling weeds
escape over red orange dust clay
into far away uncovered horizons
a colorful sunset dusk hesitates
thunderstorms roll and quake
lightning strikes illuminations
stars and moon foreseeing
flash flooding bright hot sun rising
into next night’s eternal star sky
a coiled snake nearby
I stand this day
edge of cliff pondering
an asphalt road below
Richard Eric Johnson lives and writes poetry in Arlington, Virginia. He has authored five full-length poetry collections and his poetry has appeared in numerous online and print journals. Eric is also a Pushcart nominee. He most recently was honored to be archived at La Salle University’s Connelly Library.
