Posted on December 15, 2025 by Jenn Zatopek

BEFORE THE HIKE

I.

It’s the first snowfall in Montreal,
I hear the poet’s daughter say, then–

Blinded by tiny ships of ice
which carpet the decomposing
garden of my wary heart. 

There are wilted tomatoes,
fragile basil, stalwart rosemary
brushing against my skin in the cold. 

I become what I most long for,
a bed of blood-red roses
perfuming the air amid falling snow.

II.

I see you in dreams, upside down,
in the honeyed light of adobe
while recognition flames within,
a tender nascent knowing. 

When I eat blueberries at breakfast
fear and desire mingle, stretching
into pinyon juniper forest outside
my heart a galaxy of sorrow and sweetness.

As I behold the bright morning sun,
feel how the fire of ancient starlight
has traveled so far to be with us,

I plunge into the pale blue horizon,
that long-awaited hike tomorrow,
trip to the super moon over mountains,
close contact with the universe of you.

Image / Super moon over snowy mountains, Unsplash