A white jeep with a tan top
Disturbs the minuscule flies
Under confederate-grey skies
In the land of crumbling rocks.
A horse trailer, trailing plumes
Of dust but no horses, rumbles
Just wide of pick-up trucks tumbling
More stones over the cliffs to dooms
That will dissolve down below
In the Virgin, repository
Of every flood story
Since the first, and a calf bellows.
Let's get back to that Jeep.
It is parked now on the far side
Of the River. Shadows inside
Consult. The slopes are all too steep.