I hear you,
Mountain Song.
Flowing summit,
the meltwater
knows what filth
it must clean.
I will lay in the foothills,
back-to-stone-sleep,
and open my maw
to let the water go
where it must seep
to heal my wounds,
fissures,
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.
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.
It was peaceful to write. Thank you!
That was beautiful 💙
Thank you very much!