Notes on a Mountain, Part 3
Written March 29, 2018
Human forms crest sideways
in riverbeds and rolling waves,
growing up slowly and then
all at once,
and then coming back down
to hobble and hunch.
They do not rise again
even when it rains,
they simply spread out
until they reach the plains,
filling potholes and ditches,
covering valleys and bridges,
over every divider
always reaching wider.
They form crevices and nooks,
forming wide berths from brooks,
their elbows and knees
stabbing at the trees
and gently, with rippling hands,
erode the edges of nearby land.
And the mountains look down
with their cresting peaks of stone,
uncompromising, immovable,
yet irreparably alone.
They know we do not rise
in ways that can be measured,
but they see from afar
we move infinitely together.
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