It is muddy, the road,
and steep, and that feels,
somehow, just right today
as we walk with no sense
of destination. You tell me
your dreams. I tell you mine.
By accident, I find myself
holding the string of your hoodie—
the long blue ribbon has swung
from your waist
into my hand, and somehow
it becomes just enough
of a lifeline for me to weep,
as if this thin connection
to you is enough of a tether
that whatever in me
has been trying to be strong,
Sometimes we don’t know
just how much we need each other
until, by chance, we find ourselves
strangely connected. Umbilical,
we are all each other’s children.
As we walk, we see the spindrift
of small avalanches misting at the end
of the box canyon. Such dangerous beauty.
Something inside each of us longs
for this kind of release.
We walk on, and talk and listen.
Each time I take hold of the string,
I begin again to weep. There is no shame in this.
We reach a turning point—
though it is arbitrary.
On the way down,
you take my hand
and we swing our arms with our gait.
When we let go,
I feel in my hand where your warmth has been.
All day, I feel tethered.
All day, I remember
how beautiful it was,
the snow as it fell
through the cliffs.