Sandstone

        We walk in a valley
        surrounded by cliff walls carved
        with Nabotean caves
        and Roman edifices...

        Incredible architecture all
        soaring far beyond the reach
        of my outstretched hand
        as my grappling mind
        climbs up sheer pink,
        red and purple cliff faces:
        tombs and temples
        a place of trade.

        Light air filled rock
        that makes our path pliant,
        and crumbles as I reach down into it-
        dissolves as I lift a small soft stone:

        I show our young sons
        how to make
        sand from stone...

        And the youngest
        spends the rest of the day
        in this spectacular expanse
        of carefully sculpted stone
        
        veering towards rocks to crunch.

poem copyright ©2000 Anne Selden Annab