RSS Feed

Hiking the Gorge

We’re hiking the gorge, this poem written by stone,

down the path thick with leaves, and

stone steps cut into the steepest declines.

At the bottom, ice coats the shale ledge.

We watch our feet instead of the view,

too aware of how easily limbs break,

how quickly a slip could shatter something inside.

Ahead of us, two hikers call down to someone below.

When we reach them on the bridge, we lean over to see—

Three teenagers on the side trail

that leads straight down, behind the waterfall.

The hikers above, middle aged, our age,

are calling warnings about mud and ice

are calling Careful, Careful.

The teenagers wave and laugh

across the steep distance between us.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

The Sketchbook


Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice

Writing the Day

A Poetry Practice

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

%d bloggers like this: