to rise to the mountain
but the mountain keeps rising
ahead of me.
I keep looking at the valleys
spread thin below my feet,
villages scattered in the groins of the earth.
Mountains are barren, I say,I don’t like breathing clouds,
and looking up always makes me squint.
and I grew up imploring in song
to be rescued from the fog.
I’ve been up other mountains before
and each I descended
with my pride trailing my feet.
I collect peaks for a living,
but the peaks keep moving on.
Down in the valley
I am sheltered from the wind,
I can pretend my hair is supple still.
But up there…I fear the heights,
the thin air is so forbidding;
and no tiny bud can make it worth my while.
Down there I will live
where the rivers are near
and the sky is far
and I can hearchurn.
the bowels of the earth