To the canyon that came so close
to touching me, I was nothing.
What good was a truck gearing down
to go up to the snow?
Still, the walls of rock held themselves
at arm’s length to make room.
A narrow hall. That wallpaper,
lichens splattered on basalt . . .
a bedroom carved out around me.
Snow, where had you gone,
taking the road with you?
Where was the door?