summits

Asphalt spat onto knees, the

grime of crabgrass blades- 

leaves stains on the skin. 

Tremble in cold, dusk earlier

than dawn, as expected. 

Waving hand on the hill, back and forth. 

Simple juice spills on her corduroys.

Unfazed, waving still, pointing due north.

Excited fireflies glow, pushing the boy. 

Steps towards the surface.

Birthing a world before publishing the last. 

A monster of creation makes us nervous,

Ground packed, hunker up, a vision compact.

No saviors, no shepherds, 

only victims assist warriors-

embracing up here on our mountain.

- JW