RogueAgent

You are canyon. Rift drawn and side split. Scree-footed slope
          risen in dappled leaf. Arid jewels in crimson sway and slope.

          Lost years echo across your south face, settle into your dips
of stone. Walk along these sleeping hips, a widening slope

in green. Branches strobe shadows over your fissures
          and wounds, weighted wings in skyward slope.

          Rivulets path you in torrent, a relentless carving
in rain. Sudden. Awash in ravenous slope.

With time, the rockfall stems its own ruins. Slows. Some parts
          stitch themselves up in grassy weave. Each tired slope

          worn loose. Talus fields grown rough. A snow-capped edge:
enshrine yourself in the last sun of your slope.

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