i follow footprints

cut through snow

follow

tread in tracks of one

who has come this way

before

this way i don't have

to make my own path

walk in cracks where

others have already broken through

follow footprints

straight line of shoe-steps

steady

sure

then up, into a world

of choking yellow cheat-grass

of melting dirty snow

of discarded beer cans

a world whose magic is slowly

suffocated by

black asphalt miles

but the wind still whispers

of greenness

of horses

of wild

here i go

up

no longer so steady

slipping through icy puddles

sinking in frozen mud

the mountains in the north,

those passive giants that hide

their heads in misty, flake-filled clouds

surpass in height

this humble hill,

but this

surely is the top of the world

from here,

in these footprints,

i can see sunset

shattered splinters of light

sharp and wistful

force their way

through january rain

but there is not enough

to warm me

now spiral down

right, regardless of whether

i went up wrong or just left

in unsure steps

meandering and wandering

to find home

which holds small comfort

i went where i was led

but ended up more lost

i tread where i was told

roundabout

and was dizzied

don't follow in these footprints

they know not where they go

don't follow this path

these footprints are my own