To Journey Somewhere West of Never

Flatirons, near Boulder, Colorado

Epiphany on the Road
to Boulder

James Hart 

In the beginning was the stone and the word,
and the word was water spoken by the wind,
and there was music only stones have heard,
thrust up by time so they would understand.

Here lives rocky faith where we may find it,
in imagination rocking with the heaving land,
specters in the empty sky and the flying sight,
in the raptor dropping from the granite hand.

(Poem from an unpublished manuscript
entitled Somewhere West of Never)

Magnificent Raptors: A Golden Eagle