Trekked barefoot through sticks and snow
My skin broke but my spirit held
Rocks of gold and silver
Now a part of me.
Light even in the mud
Steen green hillsides sprout wildflowers
At the base of white glaciers
Framed by tree tops
I once left only to go
My bag rubs red pelts into my shoulders.
Rocks merge with blood.
Butterflies land on plastic bags
Yet
Holy miracle of water
Dipping into effervescent warmth
My skin is cleansed
My head spinning
My toes soft.