(Written during a ill-concieved but memorable hike from the Golden Gate bridge through the Marin Headlands trying to reach highway one)

The crows whisper to each other
two holes in the day
they look over their shoulders
at me and my mate
it’s been two weeks since anyone
has come up to this place
up from the contortion
undeserving of name

We tow our packs over
the Golden Gate Bridge
a forgotten path curled
under daily exodus
the roar fades to humming
the city to mist
and finally we ascend
the crow’s lonely ridge

The crows watch over their empire
and usher in the night
They’ve been watching since before
the builders arrived
they’ll be watching when we’ve
all expectedly died
nudging each other,
“hey remember that time”

We discover quickly
that we’re over our heads
we’ve lost our momentum
our water’s near spent
there’s no phone reception
our directions a guess
and we’ve hated each other
since the two of us met

And we walk through the remnants
of World War Two
The crows still remember
how we tore the earth through
now all of the guns
are scuttled and gone
a salamander swims in
what has turned to a pond

The radio base
sits abandoned and strange
from the top of the hill
we can see our escape
we sit by each other
silent and pained
but there was too much beauty
to regret the mistake