If You Think You Know the Way

the path confounds you
as a field of furrowed runs spread out

in every direction, deep channels

of matted grass newly freed
from the overbearing weight of ice

and snow, at least where the sun

is free to traverse the valley. A bit further
on, you’re still post-holing thigh-deep

in crusty pack, no matter that it’s May.

Whatever trail might lie below the snow
is for another year. You can guess

your way along the creek, calling hey bear

with a mind to see one in the willows.
Though the creek is mostly ankle-shallow,

this small oxbow looks deep

enough to swim. With no one near,
why not ask for rebirth

and enter as a jay, cleanly

in its crystal chatter? It would be ice
if not for gravity calling melt

down from the peaks. Water so cold it burns.

So cold it burns clean through a body
and what is left but the bright zing

of something tender for the sun.

Here, you can air dry in a lasso of light,
then dress and sit on a hummock

with an apple, dreaming of your past

life, riding a particle wake downstream,
back in the direction from which you came.

Read more from Issue No. 32 or share on Twitter.