Baker’s Ridge

By: Kentucky

Oh the joy!

A mountain, we climb

I by the ripped meat of my palms

You on your toes, graceful

I hardly breathing

You hardly sweating

Do you remember though the small-medium sized lichen-covered rocks you tripped on that

almost sent you over the cliff edge to your death?

Me either.

I remember waterfalls

Great clear-blue torrents in the altitude-thinned sun

Then the chalk of the stream after the turbulent pool

Glacial till suddenly set free to travel after a lifetime of immense ice-cold suppression

What is it we were trying to find?

Baker's Ridge, I know

But really

What was it?

And did we get there?

If we did,

how do we know?

If we do,

will we know?