Seven Bridges
I want to go back to
The trail.
The one with exposed
Tree roots hiding in the
Very dirt that houses
Every wispy Tendril.
An Indian paintbrush poking through
The Micha that crumbles under
My boots. I can’t pick the
Prairie-fire to put behind her ear,
So, I close my
Eyes and etch the rust colored
Vibrancy into my memory.
Am I deceiving myself again?
or
Is it just the thin mountain air?
I swear she was looking back at
Me.
–– M.L.






















