A Proposal

When your snow melts, 
pick a late spring day, 
and wear your Levis. 

I’ll find a pair of old boots, 
fit you in a worn saddle, 
and take you up my canyon, 

pass falls and creeks, 
crisp with the roar of 
winter’s flow, up through 
fresh green aspens, 
stepping over roots and worry, 
spurring on through rocks and 
muscle, and the sweaty pull 
of something bigger 
than ourselves. 

Then we’ll surrender to 
a thousand wild mountain 
flowers, forcing trails to end.