Sat at the edge of the canyon,
watching tracks in the sky
speak shadows across the rocks,
in the words of the sun.

A voice echoed below,
telling the path
between everything and nothing,
as they sat by the fire,
illuminating red
sandstone around,
in a drunken dance.

Thought I saw her in dreams,
true there, but not here,
walking across the sands, fading into
birds in the distance, or fevered heat
writing illusions in the sand.

I thought the clouds above
had showed the way,
the great wolf against the ram,
the trader with turquoise,
walking across the sand,
the warrior and the widow
of the forgotten tribe;
and the springs and melting snow
falling down the mountain,
giving life to the verdant marsh.

Made camp as the light dimmed,
erasing the answers,
and repeating the questions.

After he spoke to the elder
the detective had said,
"sometimes I think we don't solve anything,
we just rearrange the mystery."

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