Chasm

Chasm

I cannot breathe as deep as the Grand Canyon
with all its valleys and hidden places,
that age-old wound
watching with its heavy-lidded eyes
ancient in its silence.
This between us is no blank canvas –
bloodied fingers, buckled legs, cold eyes
and you refuse to see past.
Paint-winged butterflies carried on the breeze
go by like carnival-coloured clouds
but every inch of sky is gray, gray, gray.
My lungs collapse.
I cannot breathe as deep as the Grand Canyon,
for never have I tried.