.
somewhere about a third of the way up
he came striding down the trail
and caught me unaware
a poet
staff in hand naked thin as a whip
wild gray hair framing the sun-stained face
his bright eyes blue holes
the sky showing through

when he saw me resting there
he laughed out loud — “Friend,” he said
“I have been to the summit and found nothing there!
Absolutely nothing!”
then laughing again he went on down around the bend
and left me

with my brand-new dayglow knapsack
ten dollar compass and waterproof boots
remembering how I’d sharpened my knife
'till it shaved the hair on the back of my wrist
preparing myself for almost anything
but this

still I was young then and it wasn’t until I too
had run out of places to climb
that I began to wonder where he was going
and what he was after
laughing that way

so turning around
I followed on down behind
and if I took you by surprise this morning
coming down the path
believe me I was only laughing at myself
sitting there
+++.
.

.........AFTERWORD — I wrote this poem when I was still green, around 40, a young man sitting by the trail wanting to make it to the top of his dream. Now at 78, I'm the laughing old dude who has been to the summit, amused by the Yin/Yang of things I found there, the up/down, back and forth, top and bottom that come along together to give one a full rich life.
.........About six months ago SKINNER HOUSE, a Boston publishing company, phoned and asked me if I had any poems on aging, living with illness and mortality for a book. So I sent off 140 poems that seemed to fit the criteria and they chose 70. To find the right title for this collection, the staff got together to brainstorm and came up with GOING OUT DANCING. Now that’s a great title, but lately I’ve been wondering myself how one does that. Do I rise from my death bed to jitter-bug till I drop? Or just keep doing what I do until it is time to stop? I only know that laughter is the most important step.