I look at this place,
Where old echoes yet linger,
The pristine canyon
Remember rock slides;
Sealing canyon opening,
Anticipation?
It does not matter,
Except, now, I do wonder
For how it unfolds
Markers in the field,
Cushioned in moss memory,
Rows of twisting shrubs
Lead to open door,
Through which one must set the feet;
Pass o’er the threshold;
Now, exploration;
The work of discovery,
Outside an old ruin
Leaving the labyrinth,
Explored and well mapped,
No longer useful
Find beyond the known,
In the great uncertainty,
Possibility
