Memories of Ski Gulch



Even now that gold seems free,
elusive flakes we panned
lay glittering in my mind.
Hoarded nuggets seeking love.

Water carrying wealth
to a miner's pouch still flows,
but aspen groves of guilt
won't let gold fever finally die.

Someday I'll trudge your sides
again and bring shiny bits
floating to the surface. Then, tell
me buttery metal we panned
was made for tempting fools.


Timothy Pilgrim