Sunday, June 3, 2012

Ed Rosenthal AKA The Lost Hiker

Saturday Morning

The dawn moon told the boy
I’ll stay behind you.
Go looking for the canyon
of purple stones along the arroyo.
The one that lifted you
by your boots.

With the moon behind him,
he followed the road
over the purple monoliths.
Out the broad mouth the trail spilled
into  a place too wide
for the boy.

He turned to ask her
Why am I here?
This is not my Trail
of sheep bones and talc.
Go back again to
the pink spilling out from the feet
of your canyon.
Then choose again.

He did, but the trails
turned like rivulets on
a basin of swirled batter.
One was as good as another.
He stepped out towards awnings
of white cloud.

To a wide maze of hills
where a hundred trails
meandered aimlessly.
He looked up from the trap
to find the moon
indifferent.