Arches National Park
Driving south to Arches the churches 
change from LDS to Fountain of Faith 
to Fifth Assembly, and the landscape’s littered 
with forgotten handiwork, clay a waste 
of breath. Huge, clumsy bones and arches: 
Delicate Arch, a giant failed rib. Fin 
Canyon, Eye of the Whale. A prototype, first 
try. Garden of Eden, Balanced Rock—here 
He’s just messing around, a Child 
of Architects, leaving out His blocks. 
Nearby, rock faces are scratched with symbols 
drawn by early Us: men, bear claws, scrub 
jays, deer. Circles inside circles, symbols 
we forgot. What they didn’t draw: these 
arches. They took them for granted, 
couldn’t see the things I can’t stop looking at. 
We are happy in the sunlight, want to catch 
this light on these red rocks. So all of us 
hold our shining iPhones up before  
us. We use what we take for granted, beam  
images of what we love up to the sky. 
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