I hear you,
Mountain Song.

Flowing summit,
the meltwater
knows what filth
it must clean.

I will lay in the foothills,
and open my maw
to let the water go
where it must seep
to heal my wounds,
and piton-holes.

Then I’ll climb
the earth
and soothe my wounds
in the snow.

I am the ice,
melt me Old Sun,
to soothe the climbers
as they come and go.

©️ Obol, 2019.

4 thoughts on “Meltwater

  1. This is incredibly beautiful. Every word a perfect placement and every line a perfect descriptor. This is the best thing I read all day. Maybe all a week. Yes. All week for sure.

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