ed rosenthal
April 8, 2015

Hiking has been one of my favorite activities for most of my life, but this is my only poem to use hiking imagery.


I come upon you from above,
My muscles aching from the dusty trail,
My throat parched, and my eyes on fire.
And just
As I begin my slow descent,
I hear a gentle rustle, as of
A garment blowing in the breeze.
Warily, I peer over the rocky edge.
You stand behind the surging waterfall,
Each eye a pebble,
Each breast a rock that stops the flow.
Farther in, I catch a glimpse
Of water life.
And when I descend to join you,
And when I remove my boots, my pack, my clothes,
And stand exposed,
You remain in hiding.
And I think:
Why must there always be
This vale of water and mist,
Coming between  us?

A blog about all the arts, including politics
"for 'twere absurd to think that nature in the earth bred gold, perfect in the instant;
there must be remote matter." - Ben Jonson
"I don't know what the question is, but art is the answer." - Guy Conner

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