All creamy orange and crumbledown Fantastical formations stand, Aligned on top but legs exposed At various depths along the slope. The Paiutes called them hoodoos: fear- Inspiring spires e'er looming large; The petrified remains of gods That could wake up at any time And crush the camera-toting crowds Like New World fae, skin tan and taut And sunborn. Groves of desert pine Serve as their gardens, where one night They'll break themselves from brazen cliffs And dance the frenzied blood-soaked dance Seen only by the moon herself. She'll watch them, full-faced, smiling bright.