Where you are the sun will come up in an
hour.
Where I am it rose an hour and a half ago.
Where you are, the work night will end.
Where I am, the work day begins.
In your temporary home you will sleep
While I create a space to read the Word.
Pieces of Bryce we snuck into our pockets,
Long ago, surround a candle on a cloth.
Hands on my shoulders, you walked me
to the edge of the canyon, my eyes closed
tight.
"Keep them closed," you
whispered,
Hoping for the view to steal my breath.
No, not hoping, knowing it would,
Because it had for you, that odd
Orange landscape with hidden pinks,
The rocks porous, the shrubs dry.
Where I am, in the death of autumn,
We kick through the dry leaves while we
walk,
The remains of spring verdure and summer rain,
Crisp and cool, yellow and brown and fading
red.
I tell you I've driven through snow.
It seems fantastical, where you are;
You make a joke. Where are you?
Two hours behind and forty hours drive.
