The Impossible Trail

Pathless traces
Marked only by fading
Wheel ruts
And the occasional
Abandoned remains
Of an ancient piano
Or china hutch
Show the way west.

Graves are here, too.
The wooden crosses
Long ago reduced to
Splinters and pulp.
Sadness and tears watered
Prairie flowers
All along
The impossible trail.

In the distance
Like a promise of a dream
Strands of purple ranges rose
Beckoning the pilgrims on.
Always on.

Here
A broken wheel.
There
A discarded chest
And over there
The bleached skull
Of a dairy cow
Unable to take
One more step.

But they persevered.
They did the impossible
Leaving as their monuments
The jettison of treasures
And interment of love.

Perhaps
It is not as pathless
As it seems.

The way toward dreams
Is always marked
By sacrifice
And loss.

But the land beyond
The mountains
Beckon still.