Sun and rubble.
La Luz Trail
leads nowhere.
Each step throbs,
throbs toward the moon.
The horizon is one hundred
miles away,
precise, jagged, bright.
Feet slip. Slowly,
above us, the whole mountain
begins to appear,
a silent wrath of rock
that will not go away.
Snow stings at sundown.
8000 ft. Wind straight out of the mountain
echoes off bare granite.
There’s nothing to howl through.
We are the only trees.
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