[Jim Moonan]

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Interesting form; wonderfully descriptive prose; intriguing haiku. I've only read it once and feel I've only scratched the surface of it in terms of absorbing the imagery and pent-up tension in it. There's something unquiet about it. The sense of awe coupled with a sense of disconnect. The stretch of time that has allowed the river to carve its masterpiece is juxtaposed with the fleeting time spent negotiating the crowds and dealing with the limited opportunity to capture the awe with a camera. Something like that.

The title might be the key to fully understanding this one. I haven't been able to unlock it. But I'm also just happy to see this form that blends prose and haiku. The final haiku is arresting.

At first I struggled with the opening line, but now I think it anchors the poem in its Americana roots.

My first and only visit to the Grand Canyon was overwhelming. It felt like it does when I'm trying to comprehend the vastness of the universe: incomprehensible. It was one of those experiences that brings to mind this passage from Eliot's the The Waste Land:

..............................I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.


It was something so awesome I was both overwhelmed and struck dumb at the same time.


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