we took a vow of silence but it was anything but silent rivulets of water and thunder at the base of the falls— we tried to find stillness but it was anything but still filigree alder leaves flashing in the breeze the slow sway of pines and so we abandoned absolutes in lieu of ablution the staggering coldness of the river glacier-fed my heart beating again
Escape to the mountains to see what endures– the sun-baked alpine packed dirt and scree fiery wildflowers strange butterflies warming afternoons a rock comes loose– quiet more profound after its absence tread lightly almost as if trespassing on scalloped snowfields glaciers, blue-hued, nearly holy– if they won’t last what could?
Late late morning a ripple on the lake a standing wave or complicated wake two lizards sunning themselves and not much else to say, calm and soft here, East of the mountains I watch descents: parasails, quails the crescent day moon the onerous ray of sun and spare a thought for yours: did your crampons bite? did the pack give way? Alone in the shade of static, fixed hills, I wonder, and wait.
Spring snow, heavy from the sun, as one season slides into another, jubilant, inexorable, put on a happy face and wonder where has it gone? No more sloping, no more gentleness, whatever I thought there was, was wrong and the only way out is through. Truisms and robber jays, ice in the shade. A refusal
Monday morning mountain comedown with sunburnt lips and aching legs in comparison to the alpine the city is mundane with its colorless clouds and effortless grades it all seemed so clear the higher I climbed even the goat trails the bushwacking of trees the unstable scree slopes I only know how to enjoy what it seems I’ve earned even last night I saw a glacier field approaching in my dream until turning back I woke–
OPTIONAL POETRY 