Trails
Eric Bonholtzer
The beaten path bent backward upon itself
and we followed
The gilded orb beat with a fury of its own
As we sought moisture.
It was so clear that day
The trails led all ways and to each
Its own story
As with reflections
Looking back I see myself
In a translucent pool of tranquil tumult
There is order in the chaos.
That I can see from a distance.
So pristine and pure is the water
Muddied by eddies of debris
Blended by time a smooth flow
Over rocks.
Distorted yet clear in the reflection
The river moves on as memories
The reflections gazed upon for a moment.
