This was written as an exercise this morning, in preparation for other poems. Should I continue, or rather, finish the idea before revising?
Hole in the Rock
These aren't my people
I thought from the rocking boat
looking at steep cliffs varnished
red and bleached white by a man-
made lake, whose water creeps
and laps, creeps and laps, and rocks
me now to memory.
Men in wagons once came,
looking down and across a
canyon. Trusting in God, pulleys
and ropes, the cast wagons and oxen
over the axis of faith, to steady