Between Mesas

Clear twilight

fills the bowl

between two mesas,

a cup of water

for the weary heart.

I love the mesas in winter; the snow highlights their hollows and planes, revealing the crevices that aren't visible in the warmer months. I spent over an hour trying to find a phrase to describe the way the sky fills the space between these ancient formations, how the parabola between them seems to offer itself like an open bowl. A woman I know once said that God is space, and having lived out here for awhile, I believe she was right.