analyticstracking
Poetry

Third Day at Treble Cone

-For Don & Darin

White dust sifts over the land's rumps.
Early blue dawn,
open lifts.
My edges slice
into the cold silt
and I lean into the cresting
earth,
carve a frozen snake.

Speed, balance,
an animal in motion
with strapped heels.
The morning stings a white blindness
and I am nearly alone
on this slope.

Liquid rope of blood,
chilled cheeks,
my joy spills out all over this mountain.