By Kate Rauner
Shove my heel in with a ‘schloop’ as it goes.
Laces clip-clipping thru D-rings of brass
And hooked through an open-backed rivet at last.
Taut but not tight, criss-crossed on the tongue
To hold each foot safe once the travel’s begun.
Walking through embers or wading thru floods,
Across boulder fields or curls of dried mud,
Meadows of flowers and valleys of grass,
A wind-blasted saddle, a steep mountain pass.
Pounding a cadence, my feet keeping time
Through miles of thoughts and hours of rhyme.
The beat of my heart is the rhythm of words.
Hiking’s a metronome
Felt more than it’s heard.