Arches

Thin fins of red sandstone 

Fanned like real mountains

In a cheapo western

A brush of snow

A tumble of boulders

Light

Cameras

I climb a broad shoulder of slickrock 

Baby crampons clink 

on dry stone

Chinese tourists race past me

In Lining sneakers

I arrive late

To the photo shoot

Between me & the snow gilded arch

The A listers

The entourage of choreographers

To the left

Crouch

Turn your head

Jump

Jump again

Crampons on my shoulder

Make me happy

I clamber down

With the confidence of friction

In the company

Of snow hushed buttes