Last Winded Plain

Flannel chested, bearded
smelling of the trail
canteen belt tied and finger worn gloves
pack lurching from exhaustion.

Cold streams and deep drawing airs
a rock slide tumbled in another age
boots scuffed by Cartesian ascent
easier paths might have been available.

The last winded plain a ledge
traveling group foregone to shelter
bonfire blazing to chase the night
angels must have hovered in that hollow.