Long Before We Got Here, Long After We're Gone
       

In the season blue-white sun
barely lifts above the ridge,
limps along the horizon
then dives out of sight,
we're changed each day by light.

Someone who's gone before
broke trail, set tracks.
With the right kick wax,
we make our way among birch
breathing hard rare frosted light.

We make of light arpeggio crystals,
caribou dance fans, shush
of bristles. One moment made
alive, human, unafraid.
All that's lost not gone.

Copyright © 2010 Peggy Shumaker All rights reserved
from Gnawed Bones
Red Hen Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission