On Mountain Tops


The art of luminous clouds
is hardly worth noticing until
they brush themselves on
scratchy mountain tops.

Here is where power is traded,
once the peak has vanished.
You might see bearded old men
graduating into the mist,

or fine lengths of silver hitting
rocks and echoing down
river canyons. If you are timid,
stay back and let it all pass.

But the best place to run when
losing one’s self seems a must–
exactly where building forces
discharge pursefuls of bolts.

This entry was posted in poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s