We can walk on trails longer than our ages combined,
me, your sister, me, like we’ve long explored the world
only flying once a year to the same airports and climbing the same trails.
Not today, covered in pine shadows and burnt out bark crackling like charcoal below feet not wearing hiking shoes; we’re here for a wedding
not for tracking the ridge of a mountain too big to know if we’re at the
top or not.
Your hand on my ass when we’re staring at the lake, blue
and distant like the fulfilled promise of what the ocean was explained to you as, made me wonder what you were watching.
The trees impossibly ancient and still standing despite the raging fires,
or my butt, moving under leggings that cost more than fabric should that
hugs too tight to skin.