Broad vistas of tall monuments

sweep across barren hillsides

and checkerboard roads:

The insectile progress of city life.

Cirrus clouds like smoke

march east. Birds circle the skies

and dive, wings bearing soft

whistles. The hollow rasp of my

breath accompanies the chorus of wind

tracing hollow cliffs. The sandstone beneath

me like the jagged stab in my lungs.

My nose is filled with

the cologne of sand, the dryness

of the desert, the faint musk of twisted

juniper. The flavor of sweat

trickles down to my lips.

I’ve reached the top.