The mass of sharp edges and misty summits
stands cold, gazing at me
I can see it frown,
the mountain,
Clench its fists
and fix its frigid smirk in place
Unshaken by this storm of stone, the wind
pearls the passing clouds
so through them, seeps the sun
Light escapes.
Shy, it peeks discreetly – then,
as it gains confidence, glides to the front
past those curtains of stone
Leans toward the forestage,
commences the show.
Blazing now
It sets the stones into distance
where cuddled by clouds they no longer scare –
Sheep in wolf’s clothes,
whose roar softens and sinks
In the sunlight.
