Forgotten Ground Regained
Iceland Spar
Coming down · from Constance Lake,I looked off east · over a basinof marshy grass · and meandering streamsthat lies to the south · of Lake Mildred.With the sun behind me · I saw a shelfbare and grey · above the meadows,smooth and sere, seeming lifeless,moondust shoulder · of Mount Baldwin.
Not on my map, narrow but clear,a path come up · from unseen switchbacksreached the shelf · and ran across it,straight and lonely, leading north.But back of the trail · under Baldwin’s cliffsa mound of scree · at the mouth of a cleftglinted like broken · glass in the sun,or sparks of water · on a wet slope.
No time that day · to take a detour;another year · I would know to lookin the wide meadows · walking above Mildredfor a faint trail · to follow upwardpast the wreck · of a ruined cabin,finding the dusty · desolate plain,the broken crystals · and Bright Dot Lake.
Copyright © David B. Ring, 2010
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