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I stand on the rock
and look across steep crags
and
deep canyons
to distant peaks
white with forever snow.
My eyes search cliffs
for signs of life.
All around is barren brown
dotted with tangled
clumps
of stunted wiry grass.
Far below,
in a weaving line of green,
the last pines
find the timberline.
I turn my eyes
to the cliff face beside me.
Growing out of a crack
in a brown and barren stone:
a clump of purple flowers.
