Day Hike in El Capitan

The land was unappeasable when you emerged from it.
Granite giving way to granite, redwood subverting the crushes
of azalea. You don’t know of hunger until
it’s etched in your throat, sunlight and sweat spelling
the old cities: Zerzura, Iram of the Pillars. Burnt bark
making archways, and here, the market of gilded bars, the kick
of sand and time. Fata Morgana, but also distance
drawing fire-scars on the humid sky as vendors sell smells
and smoke. Hope is the space between trees, the gap
between belief. You have been here before. You know
the way it goes: the gorges, the summit, the sky swallowing
stone without witness.