With but one way in there, a path not easy nor complete.
Out is the same way- your own mind, your own feet.

Walls are painted hues from the palette of the sun
on a perfect crystal blue canvas; the artist not yet done.

Bluer than green silky waters fall from just below the sky
spilling emerald pools tumbling rushing by.

Yes, havasu, it 's you.

A late summer monsoon, unforeseen turbulent storm
wall of mud swept the canyon, and havasu was gone.

Yes, a slice of paradise taken, erased from havasu,
some external fury that has also taken you.

Yes, havasu, it was you.