Once again
on riverstone hearth
flood whitened
finger bones of trees
feed hot flames
about my black-skinned billy
rolling to a boil
in the smoke-blue air
of an empty valley.
Another Day
Today you climb to find
no perfect arete
nor summit cairn, damn it,
only horizontal wind and rope, no hope.
Another day, you may return
to ride the ridge, that bridge
between the fears of mountaineers
and the casting out of doubt.
Once again
on riverstone hearth
flood whitened
finger bones of trees
feed hot flames
about my black-skinned billy
rolling to a boil
in the smoke-blue air
of an empty valley.
Today you climb to find
no perfect arete
nor summit cairn, damn it,
only horizontal wind and rope, no hope.
Another day, you may return
to ride the ridge, that bridge
between the fears of mountaineers
and the casting out of doubt.
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