Sweet mountain air where
thunderclaps clap their hands
shake to make the wind
blow
and tumble down wildflower paths
Rich, deep plum among
– a sea – of shimmering glimmering grass
secretly strewn with smooth sea-shorn glass
from shores seldom sought
from sands seldom passed
Like bowls brimming with moon
blue, foggy light
are lakes, cupped in valleys
of pitch, inky night
Fed with snowmelt
nourished by steep rocky slopes
thundering crumbling
sheer chilly heights
– mountains – that whisper goodnight
And catch all the rain
and drown
and block out the sun
and call in the sky up in the clouds

swiftly swollen with storms