Jarrod Sage

 

yet again, Forelaufer fades.

that cabin disappears behind slow crunching

            gravel and quiet chatter

about locked ski racks, those pinned up family pictures, last night’s

          stolen liquor.

 

it builds gradually to droll,

          raucous banter and

          jests: an architecture of egoist pride

that suggests—

          even in our departure—

          that we think we know this time

          -share and—

with absolutely no shame—

          that we’re sure we own this place.

 

elevation gain feels quick in forests

          you think you’ve seen—

          you think you’re familiar with—

          you even have pictures there—

we reached our level set of the Pacific Crest and yet had barely even broken a sweat.

 

and like always,

          jokes about Percocet and unrest peter out to the sound of

            mountain gust

            insect buzz

            and more yet slow, gravel crunch.

 

the occasional passersby

        see only four strangers, kind

        young boys who ask for pictures, share the favor and continue past them,

         forever.

 

         surely, we know each other better.

 

and yet, always more to unearth

               we reach the switchbacks

               and bumble up to the cliffside

            to meet our feet with real earth

behind the trees we see the lake,

          crystal perfect, known

          non-entropic, it never flickers or waves,

          never changes, always remains

          fixed in our reflections upon past days

but in our gradient descent,

         converging on that minimum

           suddenly, we alter course, go deeper

           change our minds instead for a lake that hides

         a lake our pictures haven’t been inside.

 

we fill up water filters at a new spot

          ripples and pulses across the surfaces warp our images,

           light from new distances

           scatter through dark-field lenses and each of us is

          the same, but different.

 

the same people in different places

          new contrasts, new contexts

        a different relaxed state than expected.

the same four kind boys, best friends since the fourth grade

constantly meeting each other for the first time, again.