standing tall and unabashed,
the remnants of a page ripped from God’s novel.
We sit in its wake
wondering of which of these unknowable secrets
we’ve been robbed.
Above, the clouds are the blood of our sins
drop-dropped into the ocean of heaven
drawing us in, such that we can’t look away.
Golden embers dust these peaks and
sparrows feast on sparks
as darkness sounds its final warning.
And then, like the color draining
from a fast-dying day,
we are left amidst the pallor
of a world that just keeps turning.
Features fade into obscurity
and our marvel melds with meaningless majesty.
An offering of our love
and consumed with thankless irreverence.
This world is larger than we.
Our odes console our restless souls far more
than they honor the subjects of our fascination.
So quietly we weep,
enshrined and imprisoned by our hopeless humanity
while the wolves run free
and the elk die gracefully
beneath bashful, bloodied skies.