HIKING AND READING

The canyon rim is the head of the trail,
Soon the gentle slope turns steep,
The opening line begins the tale,
Scenes grow wider and the characters deep.

Under cliffs that tower blue and dim,
Boulders tumble to the canyon stream,
And images tumble from an opening seam —
The rubble of another mountain strewn within.

On high slopes, surviving trees
Are bent and twisted by the wind,
The falls will never slow to ease
The waters' unrelenting din,
The words will never cease to flow
Resounding on the thoughts below.

Downward the trail follows the course,
The hiker goes where canyon flora bend,
And comes across the reader in the end,
Seeking equally the ancient source.

A HEADLONG RIDE

Out of the tunnel bursts the train,
Out of the darkness into the glare,
The startled passengers exclaim,
The wakened readers rise and stare.

The text is rushing to its end,
So swift that sights cannot compare
With scenes read earlier at ease;
Steeply the storylines descend
Through twisting plot and vistas blurred,
By roaring streams, by torrents of words,
Nor does the narrator explain
The glimpses of a wild terrain.

Far from the sources where it rose,
The train of thought now breaks and slows,
And leaves the reader in his chair,
Brought to a halt at narrative's close.

Loneliness.
A wistful air,
The track ends. The page is bare.

But what might a second ride disclose?