Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades

The fire ring steams in the swath of dawn 
Seeping into the canyon above the breaks.
In an endless flood everything comes down these fragile walls.
The voices are calling high above the rimrock
a few thousand feet up till the plateau.
Shuttering steps up the face in rock red as Mars
Sliding and gasping intwined in a body wide revolt
Of shale and its propensity to disengage constantly.
The voices are calling 
Throwing themselves against the rocks 
Bouncing from everywhere to meet me
Taunting, trickling my adrenaline deeper
Climbing to the horizon unbroken
Scattergun shouldered 
Dog frozen in an invisible trance
The footfalls quicken 
The distance removed 
The voices still calling
Across the canyon 
A thousand feet across
A thousand miles away. 

Rabble Amongst Yerselves or Holler Back

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