mountains

Mountains.
knuckles, fingers, and spines coming down from a monumental head and melting into weary sister earth. like fire they rise, like human they fall.
Mountains.
broad, dark, and enormous, but no objects of worship, whispering of another power under the sweet spell of summer in her flowery dress and then shouting of a given rage in the fast teeth of a winter mask.
Father.
who are in heaven, your gardens are beautiful but broken. i seek the heights but not without doubling over from lost breath. nothing is found without something else being lost.
We ask
that you would not let us be mountains. we do not want to melt into prairie. we do not like the taste of our body's erosion.
Mountains.
gorgeously spun in a thick tale of love and youth. she lies to us, the way she looks so young.