There are six mountains
forming around where I sit
on the mountain I just don’t see.
It’s the clouds. Three I can name:
one is a mass of thunderheads,
one is cirrus, wispy mare’s tails,
one’s a dense carpet, denying the sky.
Their colours change with the light;
moods are swung by sun and moon.
But six mountains still stand out:
One way above me is a snow jewel, ethereal,
where among light and ice, distance got born.
Its slopes pull away from the volcano below.
Down there, in here, it’s juicy, we’re cooking ...
but with each eruption of steaming unspokens
the sulphurous fumes blot out the sun.
So I wheel to the South, where wildlife roams.
Here giant sun-birds soar and swoop down
on the water-snakes we used to play with;
here apes act out what it's like to be human,
and jewel-eyed frogs, rich-voiced, peer
through the foliage you thought you’d grown out of.
When the days fall apart, you can dream yourself here.
North Mountain. It’s where the tablets of law
were carved. People get carried there for purgative cures,
in the hour when work grinds things to a halt.
Enjoy! Any time you can taste the over-breathed air,
hear the drums and the horns, be part of the singing.
The mood is lifting with the whoops of the healers,
helping our All merge into their One. Sing up!
Time and again, I’ve been rescued from those.
But the two tallest still draw me;
I see my profiles stamped on their slopes.
An unconquered mountain still holds the East.
Halfway up is a tent, with strong sweet tea;
by the stove, you can hang out, swapping tales ...
of the lake where wish-fulfilling crystals form.
There, the air’s so sharp, thoughts can’t take hold.
Instead phantoms appear that snare climbers’ wits,
whisper of a summit, then lead over an edge.
Survivors say that’s the point:
go out misty ...! Plummet into vision...!
Every year the mountain seems to get taller –
or maybe it’s just the mist is descending.
The one in the West has an easy approach.
At its base there are women who pick through
the rubble, icons and discarded finery;
they’ll gladly give you a hatful of flowers.
With these and a loan, you can make an offering
to the polished idols looking down from above.
The top is flat, scrubbed clean and defended,
so we’re free to choose which one to vote for.
But by the time I get there, pushing through
the websites, speeches and slogans,
I’m dizzy ....
I just want to find a way down –
to where the ground will keep opening beneath me.
From these lost valleys comes my mountain’s strength.
Out of these, I know my river will rise.