…at the retreat, hour after hour

with a rope that seems frayed

and a creased, old map

I think I see tracks in dried mud—

too wide for raccoon,

too small for bear.

Someone has been this way before—

there are old ashes in a hollow,

a cairn of stones at the crossroad.

Traveler, give me your hand,

keep my feet on the trail:

together we might just make it.

∞

From the “Online Exclusives” for the Spring 2013 issue of Inquiring Mind (Vol. 29, No. 2)

© 2013 Geraldine Zetzel