Ski The Trees
With my eyes closed, I was Don Juan performing
the gait of power through the naked aspen trees
and the deep champagne powder of Steam Boat Springs
where the railroad barons and cattle ranchers
in their quest to build a better America
dynamited and destroyed the earthen rock formation
that gave Steamboat its eerie groan from the earthen depth’s.
The quiet stillness, assaulting, alluring,
I snake through the unearthly crisp
whispering white softness
broken only occasionally
by the clacking of my skis.
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