The bride’s laugh vexed the lands,
overlooking the great, bruise-colored
canyon, when she first said to the groom,
No, I don’t think so.
She defied his desires,
for nearly a century. He tried so hard…
it nearly brought death. His, or hers;
it didn’t really matter.
We’ve learned how some of them,
my darlings, are nothing more than creeps.
And rest assured, our game does have an end:
an end which tips the scale. The journey
out of the wilderness, away from the pit,
will find our esters quite changed.
Our journey was (or will be)
long, and very quiet.
Now, our shimmering skin dims to the shadow thief;
time is stealthy, taking soundless, fevered positions.
The anticipation is delicious, under our knees,
truth thrust like a knife (between waxen observers).
Soon, light-dressed love will be in your hair;
and wrestlers, across the colors, will shift through the room.
Desire, realized, is hot silk, slipping quiet and soft.
Dear one, there is no other course found.
You know more laughing is the way —
and less is usually, but not always, more.
Kimberly Townsend Palmer 
You begin your poem w/ what feels like a Navajo legend. But our lives are not legends, as we soon find out. More often than not we stumble along, encountering creeps and others on the way. Indeed, “creep” is a kind term for some of those we meet.
The bruise-colored canyon has sexual overtones for me but, also, a suggestion of domestic violence. Even w/o violence many of us are bruised by love.
We love again because that is the better way to live. All the while, death is the shadow thief. Our lives here are limited, and not all will find their heart’s desire in the time allotted them.
But there is a promise of better things in your poem. For me, that speaks of life after death — not what some call the peace of the grave, but fulfillment in Christ and life eternal. ❤
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thank you so much for such a careful reading & illuminating response. ⭐️🦋
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