untimely mountain
dripping from heaven to sit
perched atop my road.

raspberries bloom horizon
as purpling lavenders spring
out

whispers our egregious lifestyle
has brought on such beneficent sunset,
as salty poisons lick the wound of the sky
and great Ra weeps a Technicolor medley.

breath of rivers seep into face flesh,
pine fresh but somehow strangely seeming—this
wisp born of ageless tree-bark-needle,
and not a can.

“the trout are running” words trip over
water beating defenseless rocks to stop-loss.
words like magic incantation or tongue no
longer known (no stone to replay
years of knowing-learned).

unheavy burden withers fire’s heat
to empty coldness of a fresh night.

untimely mountain
stopping progress through

as though there were direction,
and not a leaf, battered by the wind.