Poem: East Rim Junction


All we had was one vague map

on the lost trail which found a few.

There were more hikers at the start

as each scattered stranger received our

strange questions: Where is this going?

What does it mean? Why are we here

when there are better trails to be?

Their answers, our map, our will:

flickering torches on the lonely path

guiding us around the canyon rim

for seven meandering miles until we realized

there was no precipice, no destination

as our fear of purposelessness came true.

If there was a “goal” in my linear obsessing

it was to realize how lost I already was—

to toss my watch from the mesa and know

the futility of time and maps and advice.

Grief goes nowhere but down and around

an unfathomable void once filled.