Patches of grass and weeds
Illuminated by bright clouds
Huddled over the village;
A roof of soft moisture
Pierced here and there
By spears with gilded shafts.
I climb through barbed wire
Down by the railroad tracks
And through a tunnel
To reach a mountain god
And tread upon his skin.
The flesh was soft and filled
With specks of grey and white.
Large bones jutted from beneath,
Host to patches of lichen
Glowing starkly
Beneath my feet.
Sharp inclines and spotty paths
Lined with berry bushes
Yielding fruit
Not yet ripe,
So I leave the berries,
Sometimes climbing down
In order to climb up.
A delicate dance
With intricate steps
Guide me through cracks
And along precipices;
Steadying hands lay
Upon somber stones
Bent neatly to guide me
To the summit.
I gaze upon what was conquered
While the god bows before me,
As I once before it.
Rolling green and winding browns
Cascade across my vision
To form my understanding
Of what I was
At that moment.
From high to low,
Above and below,
I carry the dirt
On my soles
Not as a transient
Or an alien,
But as one who breathes
The same rhythm
As the mountain god.
Composed 06/09/2012
Author’s Note: I went hiking with my fellow trainees one weekend up a hill on the outskirts of our little village. I remember that the only light jacket I had with me was a blazer. Everyone else was wearing windbreakers, hiking jackets, hoodies, but I alone scaled the heights in a fancy jacket. One of our host sisters came wearing flats. I don’t think she had a good time.
Previous Posts
Next Posts
Two Second Street 