Trail

Plastic ribbon wrapped around a thinning
sapling in the winter when it’s crushed
by all the snow. I do not know the right
direction I should go to make it out of there,
on this distant trail that I am not familiar.
Then you find me there all lost
and looking everywhere for any sign
to trace my way back out to where I started.
You give me mittens since my own have
gone to threads out past my finger tips
and I am thankful for the extra pair you carried.
When we walked through that old archway
made of living things that held up
all the sky it showed us why
we’re sometimes sent in wrong directions.
I never knew you or remembered that we met
out there in all that precious sunlight
that did not have within it enough to simply weigh
the shovels down for all the people stuck
maintaining every sidewalk.
I am one of them with freezing
oxygen in a sprint through almost
all of me and I can see the far end
of this winter that is likely to be worth it
when we get there.

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