The closest I’ve got to the Grand Canyon
is flying over it. Or the Kentucky Palisades,
the gorgeous gorges. I drive across I-75
and peer into the river, shortcut through ages.
I get closer to it when I can and take the ferry
when I don’t need it. Drive the single lane bridge
that hums my car underneath the highway.
If I could quilt the afternoon in shadow.
The canopy of trees looks like it stretches endless.