Pulse Check

I sing my song to the grass 
and the aspen, running as the cougar
runs, the impression of my feet 
in the mud a reminder that I passed 
by the imposing pine tree

at the top of the hill. The sun 
rescinds its heat as it dips
down, engulfed by brazen 
crimson before falling into the 
night. Darkness pervades

until there remains one 
solitary light: mine. A spotlight
on the steep trail ahead of me. 
I want to be still, sleep beneath 

the cozy blanket of dust 
that envelops the rocks, amassed,
and the climbing continues 
as the doubts creep in.
 
I walk with that weight for miles.
My momentum diminishing and I ask
myself: Why continue? What is the point?

Shadows are cast by stars, 
wells from which I guzzle,
begging for it to get easier.
Only the tired wind responds.

It is there, within, amid my shortcomings, 
the most prominent of peaks.
A pulse, reverberating. The pain is 

irrelevant: I let it go. I descend 
while the morning ignites. I endure,

and the sun begins its arc once more.