Mt. Whitney Viewed from Bristlecone Pine Road – a poem

Out here in the desert
the summit just a snaggle-tooth
in a granite gumline.

Anyone, they say, can reach the peak of peaks
though the air is thin and the summer heat brutal.
Up there at night you can freeze to death.

But if you prepare, then dare, all it takes
is what made you a toddler, your one step
then another trudging resolution,
until you stand atop a sea of rock
and nothing anywhere higher.

Who wouldn’t want to do that?
But why, you ask?

Well, to go with friends and
reach the top of something
look around at the world at our feet
come down, look up, and nod

having tested for once the lie
that distance makes everything small.

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