VI.
Nervous,
at first, the ride
To
the mountain’s bony peak, we turn calm, feel
Secure
by the gondola’s perfect rise. Up above,
We
walk the spiral of pines, under the radius of sky, whisper
Directions,
notice, on the floor, the bloom of fern, its fingers, dirty
Green,
toothed along the margin of slopes. The question then,
The
mode of descent to the mountain toe. All the while,
You
busy yourself in the exact measure of miles,
The
crawl of time, the possible spill of after-
Noon
into evening, while I repurpose my sight to the con-
Ference
of firs, their lesions of blight, and the notch’s
Gentle
slants, like hammocks on which Summer reclines.
Decided,
at last, to hike down the path, we embark
The
journey down; from a tip of cloud, near the crown
Where
an observatory stands, along the steep decline
Disobedient
in its twine, fraught with square rocks,
Dimpled
cheeks of fauna mushrooms, dried sockets
Of
lakes, to, at last, the motor way; your pale skin,
A
glossary of sweat, under your t-shirt, conspicuously wet,
As
you lead the path through brackets of Nature’s unimaginable
Wonder,
maneuvering, in your head, the directions, following
Only
the preserved imprints of dead rivulets.
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