THE GRACIOUS MOUNTAINS
You have seen them
at a great distance
like parings of fingernails
above the western clouds,
pale as the sky below.
They do not look like mountains
but groundless hovering spirits
maybe affixed to your eyelashes
you cannot blink or brush away,
permanent, yet unreal as the eternal,
and at such remove as to seem unreachable.
Still, there are people up there,
even towns, and you and I have been up there
frolicking and throwing snowballs,
but mainly climbing, climbing
towards their robust peaks,
shimmering above the clouds,
whose view they offer, on a clear day, of below,
it is told,
is complete and forgiving.