March in Yosemite

Justin Kim

Rain showers gently along the old dirt patch
Cleared and smoothed by a thousand other feet
Over the decades, past and to come.
I move unhurried as I lift up my head
And, tongue free, drink in the cool manna
Until I come upon an outcropping by the road.
Massive flat stones balance on each other
To form a shelter.
Dripping, I collapse
Onto its carpet of soft, brittle fuzz
And take in the thick, cold taste
Of mass and dirt newly fed.
Rough, ragged speckled stones
Warm slightly at the touch
As I breath heavily, ever softer,
And look out on the grey and green land
That grows darker by the second
Until nothing shows in the blackness,
Save a flash and a shatter.
Then silence

When my eyes crack open,
All is white.
The breeze’s kiss stings.
I hold out a hand to the open air
And watch a single pale speck
Fall into my palm.
A single pinch
And it’s gone.