Here's an oldie of mine. It's from *Winter Journey*,
c. '79. And I'm posting it . . . well, let's say, just
because it's there.
When I think of this mountain
I mainly think of the tremendous
weight it must have. I think of mass--of *mass*!
The mountain moves heavily in its own way.
Its ridges are studded with huge, half-exposed boulders,
some perhaps ready to fall. Yet these are mere flakes
compared to the dense dark mass below, those shelves and columns
and slabs of subterranean rock. This mountain keeps
most of itself to itself--underground and deep.
And yet on its slopes and in its narrow valleys
it tolerates air and light, sunshine and shadow.
Clattering goats on high rocky ledges. Plunge of a stream
into forest, where voices cry out in surprise.
Beneath it all, the mountain--silent and sober. And
beneath the mountain, the dark and massive earth.