Dilapidated pages crumble upon each other,
The ruins of one sheaf disgorging onto surrounding stones.
Brittle shale building a holy tome,
The kind only sacralidged , blotted, with the utmost rarity
By the occasional hikers descending the slope.
Dots of a child’s drawing puzzle
Connected by psychological lines from consciousness to consciousness.
Not tethers between bloated packs
Bearing stitched-on brand labels
That with an inverted,
Or strand there of,
Attempt to asexually clone the summits
Adding pages to the texts.
With utter disregard for traces of vanity,
Dust crusted boots fixate human minds,
Serving as lost eyes in the tactile world of mountainous descent.
Cliff walls and boulders explode into shotgun blasts of memory
Idolized in the Gospels of a shale Bible.
Each step turns the hiker into a predatory creature:
Avoiding each loose rock
Precipitously waiting to fall on the man’s fellow’s below,
Watching as wolves stalk caribou.
Feeding the pack through staying upwind,
Guiding caregul steps throught alder underbrush
With it’s belly dragging through the mud breeding tormenting black flies.
Commiseration blazing into visibility,
Aided by by auditory yelps of it’s pup’s in den.
Same miniatures whose hunger breeds feel of a missed hunt,
A trundled stone.