Above the canyon’s rim,
the eagle soars in circles
and I grasp onto its wings,
dizzy with the apprehension of flight.
The creek falls straight down,
drawn with the aid of a ruler,
and I am a droplet evaporated
into mist as I plummet.
The walls are ironed faces,
and when I launch from my mouth
and ricochet between them
shouting, Here there is beauty,
they echo back, But also terror.