Mine to have but not to keep—
the long view, looking out at time,
the future from a mountain top,
the grand vista, the view non-stop
of lofty peak and far outcrop—
the only limit was the climb.
I owned the possibility
of what was on the other side
of any hilltop, any year,
across an ocean, beyond there,
the future huge and little fear
of destiny as big as sky.
But now a canyon calls to me.
A small brown bird that brightly sings,
a trail with mossy covered stones,
a stump to sit on, rooted down
into the deepest of the known.
It’s not the long view. No, not now.
I look for what a river brings.
