Tussey Mountain: a walking poem

day breaks
into increments of gold

a falling leaf flits back and forth
like a doomed moth

acorns gestate
in the throat pouch of a jay

the breeze is spicy with rot
i take deep lungfuls

nuclear armageddon
is trending on twitter

the bluestone road
seduces me again

*

each of my feet aches
in its own way

the left to take wing
the right to take root

they take me where hemlocks
pry open the rocks

and vultures drift past
without flapping

a section of trail famous
for being hard on boots

it is difficult says the guidebook
to get any rhythm going

as you step from rock
to rock

but this is the music
i grew up with

a grouse cups his wings and drums
on the skin of the air

*

distant booms
a shooting range perhaps

the sun goes in but
the yellow keeps glowing

chickadees announce my presence
in unflattering terms

to a mixed flock feeding
on mountain ash berries

a rock shifts under me
i shift with it

at a trail intersection someone
has dug a hole in the rocks

revealing the water table
its serving of birch leaves

farther along the hemlock
burnt from below

by an untended camp fire
that turned roots to charcoal

two years later it’s dead
but for one last limb

stripped down to the skeleton
for a sky burial

*

descending the flank of the ridge
i find a proper spring

yellow coral mushrooms
extend crossed fingers

the mountain can punish
moments of inattention

but i am a bad student
i walk in two places at once

a place of wings
and a place of roots

that night the moon flies
through prismatic clouds

at its brightest
and most manic

stained by the dark
beds of seas