Grand Canyon National Park, California

Strata: green and brick red-oranges
Into lofty plateaus, the canyon bowed
By the gritty Colorado River,
The azure sky inexhaustible. But still,
This is a kind of youth: echo my name.
Echo the hollow call of the wooden flute.
An elegant earless lizard darts out
From under a prickly pear cactus, and I find
There are steps made of earth
And wooden rims that descend down
Onto the rock face, and I am drawn
To them, I am drawn to adulation –
I have been summoned.