Crust gives way to powder,
to waist-high drift
as we trek homeward—
hills magnified
with headwind, the strain
of supplies in our packs. Climbing
out of our tracks to pull you
from the deeper snow,
I press ahead, falling
behind
again to follow
through the glazed depths,
the sinking grate and jar
as we lift our feet
and step on through the thinning
air of exhaustion.
For what must be miles
both of us staggering
forward and back,
overtaken by the numbing
expanse, the provisions
and heavier boots
of our own pasts,
we plunge and falter,
breaking trail, each
leading and led.