End of Camping

one night i sat
up trying to count
tent time, evenings in
lean-tos, sleeping bags
on dew covered earth
after backpacking, hiking, driving
away from city streets

to forest trees, mountains
summer storms, coastal sunrises
and there were dozens
maybe two hundred of
these star-filled moon
skies with campfire sparked
memories of younger days

when injured vertebrae were
stronger and slumber more
easily arrived, now nearing
50, i feel the chapter’s
end coming, but a story
written in god’s nature
will always dwell within

Mount Tamalpais

we talk about life
stumbling upward toward East
Peak, the fog slowly
disappearing into blue sky
day on this mountain

where we remember thirty
that age when last
here, ascending together as
if time remains still
but no, five kids

between us, balding heads
failing vision, and all
the rest of middle
age, to think in
another fourteen we will

be sixty, how long
will the mountain remain
ours, before it nudges
us off fire roads, away
from crow filled branches

we look down on
Lake Lagunitas, that water
holding minutes like a
Jim Croce song that
lasts forever, then stops