Above the trees you’ll find cairn cathedrals
pointing where the birds go. Left behind,
we climb step after step, guided
by feldspar flakes and diorite fists
that wear the radius of a river’s age.
Looking down on the world below, it’s clear
how the deepest oceans built the highest
graveyards filled with birds silently resting
their talons, heads tilted back, praying in a sun
where fossil snails bent their beaks.
They say you can balance an egg
during the vernal equinox. It turns out
you can balance it anytime you want
if you know the trick: a squinting eye,
a steady hand, a solid foundation.