The canyon turns, collects, settles, flows. Heats, breathes, deposits, forgives. It is this earth that resists. The blood is life. A flood within. The body is resistance. The sea, inevitable. The scouring, the weathering is done in bursts. Lightning clanging, storms flowering and fainting upon the land. Gushing. The river accepts. Momentary, but once there, past. But always. The same, the next moment not. Like love. Like a woman’s face that you remember to find peace. Her body the land, the earth, the flesh, but the eyes flow. I move and float upon the dream. Depend upon the flow to take me not there, not away from here, but that place around the next bend where mysteries lie stretched and curved upon the warm sediments of this desert life. The small meanders of my mind gathering, dropping, joining. The oars pull one side eddy--the return. One side current--the movement toward. Hacer. El Rio Hacer. Toward your heart red soul flaked falling upon the sand at the edge. I stand toes wet but heels sinking into your love. If only the earth were a circle and I could surf upon your curve. Float for a moment on your lifting caresses. A flat stone upon the flow. Too heavy yet still. Still here lifted by your hands once again. And turning I am inside your burning heart once again.