This water,
it can steal your breath away,
and the thirsty air
could take your life.
Perhaps you are willing
to risk everything you have ever known
to the red labyrinth
of canyon walls, and bathe
along the icy waters
to wash away the old life,
where a thousand years ago
a man and a woman walked
to talk about endings,
(or was it beginnings?),
and where a million years ago,
lava boiled in crimson falls
to greet the river
with great white columns
of blinding steam
rising into a moonlit sky.
That same full moonlight
through which you row
your shanty vessel
like a pirate jamboree
past the rocks and weathered stones,
and into the black night
as if it were your last,
whispering your deepest secrets
to the stars,
or to a fellow traveler,
which is to say
that down here, you are finally able
to say what you mean,
and you realize that this
is the only definition
of freedom,
and that no matter
where the river leads you after,
it is now your responsibility
to follow the canyon back out
into the world and share
your wet, wild light.
