I was in Fern Canyon this afternoon, a short stretch of Wentworth Canyon that’s moist enough along one part of the south wall to support a few feet of Adiantum fern. The story is that the place was wetter once and the ferns covered the canyon
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How swift it is this heart can shift, can shed old sadness as a snake sheds scales, new clarity of vision coming as old skin falls from athwart the eyes.
The Raven’s eyes sparkle in the desert sun.
I am abraded, skinless. I am that part of the
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