Trail Time Nears

Ten-foot Puzzle

Every mile has its measure
but of course counting’s not the game;
you left the numbered life behind – the price
tags the thumbed texts the ten tattooed digits
of your first phone – for a foot-won world where
for once this ramp of rock offers
easy answer and you can look ahead
into the glacial tumble of stone and
see one two three see four see maybe five
points where your foot will land – first that humped
turtle-rock then that mudded swale (its
soft skim you know is inch deep only) then
left foot lifts straight to the flattop (poles
set to drive down) from which flexed toes allow
you to spring ninety degrees right your boot
canted to forty-five your thigh a coil
and then you soar you bear only air be-
fore settling softly on the tablerock
of step five where there’s no pause where already
the bright wrapping’s off and the land ahead
is yours to puzzle out – solve, solve again.


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