Skip to content

Continental Divide

She lags below, as I press on, climb,

up the mountain towards Emerald Lake.

A coyote sounds on the stone. My limbs

freeze. “Is this where the water flows back?”

“Not yet,” I say, frustrated. “Soon.”

She itches for the smog-choked valley

Where dissipated men meet, spoon

Sugar in cappucinos, speak Farsi,

Dress expensively. Now is a season

for granola, frugality. We’re nearing,

but is she with me? I look back. Slashing

through brush, I escape, the green basin

Explodes before me. But I see the glassy

Skin alone, for I have lost Eurydice.