High Sierra Topix

On the Stairs

We started upward under cover
of liveoak trees and little flies
that sipped our sweat as we swore and slapped
while trying not to trip on rocks.
Leaving the trees by a ledge of granite,
we got a first view of the valley floor;
traversed the joint as it trended east;
climbed steep sand to a second stop
where a slope had shrugged and slid from the trail.
Passing the pool of pounding water
where the upper falls eats at the joint
and brims in a bowl of broken stone,
we climbed in earnest on the clean slabs
that lay to the left, leading higher,
away from the roar of the raining water,
into silence, into light.

Bending west, then bending east,
the stairs piled stone on stone before us
brought back to mind when merrily
at three years old upon my back,
you rode and babbled, bounced and laughed,
lunging left, lurching right,
reaching out for rock or flower,
bird or bush or butterfly.
On the same steps standing separate
now you followed, now you led.
The light went on; we laughed and followed
it on rungs of rock ascending.