The suffocating blankets
looming
across an incredible stretch;
as far as far; only
yielding
over some unimaginably distant world with a break
–
bathing
gold and gleam
touching down to some young things eyes
and subsequent heart.
Then
these bags that sag, these full
grapes eager to burst in their ripe and
overloaded – unattended spitting
boils – rolling.
Then
the ones who crawl: ten thousand
fingered giants,
pawing up peaks and into the invisible,
to join their
top toppling,
chest swelling brothers.
Bastards.
My favorite:
smooth
and oval
and layered.
Well that’s how they come across,
to our blind eyes.
They’re in that invisible as much as the obvious,
only uncloaked by the sudden cooling
over high places.
Look at their coming and going;
you see that(?)
feeding in
and out(?):
a stream filling
and emptying:
this alpine lake./?