|
Sweat streaks carve rivers
down dusty cheeks. Ears burn fiercely red beneath the wide-brimmed hat, straining to cool the body's oven. Legs move mechanically up the narrow band of beaten earth, the effort all, the why discarded six miles back, a thousand feet below. Dirt-rimmed eyes scan without seeing the dull gold of sandstone, the shimmer of blue ceanothus, thick-clustered curls of oak leaves. Bunchgrass whips his wet calves as they beat on, folding him about the bends, ever nearer the tall piled cloudbank beginning to crest the ridge above. Then, a sharp turn around a stand of young redwoods—the path falls away to a broad meadow— flowers blaze across the sodden mat, a clap of new life to his eyes. A hoarse shout leaves his throat— the petals explode—butterflies, shocked aloft by the invasion. He laughs—clouds of bright wings blink and swirl about him, a soft breath of heaven to tease away the stain of the day. |
Apogee (B-0226 [B-144])
from
Millennial Verses : poems,
1st ed.,
Dec. 2000.
An earlier version appeared in
The Trail Companion,
Summer, 2000.
1st web edition posted 1/2/2001.
Published by Fleabonnet Press.
©
2000-2001 by Brian Kunde.