he circles the base of the mountain, winding an arc—

searching for a place to begin, discarding

geometric ideals for hard geography


the need to climb surmounting worry

about coming back safe, in one piece, untouched


to life, marriage, kids, job (loss)


hoping life is more than a map

on a page he can read; some metaphor


he steps over unseen lines, knowing

trail heads deliver more than he expects:

that his questions will soon be swallowed

whole (their disappearance hinging

on his own appearance)



This poem appears in my book peace: poems for the spiritual journey

Available on Amazon

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