On the trail back down,
Breaking out of the forest
Where fields open and slope
North Like a carpet before the
Distant Crowning Catskills,
Heralded by bluebirds,
A patch of brown, thawed,
Trampled mud in the
Winter sun, pocked by
The suck of boots from
Bygone hikers like
A gathering of unlikely
Cups poured exactly full
Of distilled blue light,
A crazy path from sky to sky.