Past the sunset,
we’re in pursuit
of leftover angles.
After I work and pray
I might tell you slowly
I can’t make my living
in the latest wilderness.
Armed with a penchant,
for every known answer,
I refused to wonder
about life recorded
in piles of sketches.
But memory muses
when a door closes.
Then destiny seeks
steady companions.
Ones who are schooled
in a science of canyons.