Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Trail End

Fever-pitch footfalls
Come to a close at the base
Of a mountain.

We stop, drop
Our packs in the dirt,
Want nothing more than shelter.

Further above,
I sank down, believing
I could not go on.

You grabbed my shoulders,
Told me we would do it,
Get down and back home, so
I willingly walked in your footsteps.

I slid-scraped over rocks
Tripped over tree roots
The forest and mountain blurring,
Tangled knots of brown and green
Painting the relentless descent.

When we hit the lonely road
We collapsed together,
The sharp, heavy woods
Continuing on into darkness.


Our trail-selves retreat as
Dusk makes the colors pop,
Gritty gray and black.

The stiff silence of isolation
Forces us up again
Searching for signs of life.

A minivan approaches -
We get in, carried away,
Not looking back.

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