CLOUDLESS
Last day of winter, spring sun
on mountain. Count the days
before snowmelt reveals
what’s been going on
below. Alone at High Camp,
remembering poets who
travelled without leaving
themselves, Tao
appears, a weathered branch—
standing in for the cairn.
Things might have been smoother
had the man ironed some wax on skis.
Jim Bodeen
20 March 2019
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