Small close together steps
        that were once long strides
twenty feet ahead
        on Yosemite high country trails—
all six-feet-two of you
        stopping, looking back, waiting
for me to catch up.

You move now like a Great Blue Heron— 
        peering down, lift one leg
bent at the knobby knee, hesitate 
        before lifting the other, unsure
if the path is clear of cracks, rocks, 
        rough edges.

I wait and watch,
        wish for a wind-up key
to crank
        to change the pace,
get us from here to there, 
        ease my impatience,
make everything different.