I am the mountain.
I endure, sustain under
the throb of generation.

Through extinction’s darkening
thrust, my pulse beats steady, even.
I am the mountain.

I know death is not forever.
Each summer I adorn myself.
Sun yellow poppies, sticky monkey,

Rivers of pearly everlasting
Cascade down great thighs
of iris, wild cucumber, azaleas,

Just pink, ripple down my rich brown
curves. In the pleasure of my crevices,
elfin butterflies quiver.

My music hastens on painted wing.
I am the mountain. In my lengthening,
blue moths shudder, blossoms flutter,

Fading with the light, dying many times
before I take in my next breath. Red flickers
see for me, young hawks circle the sick,

Seize the flesh, feast fast like daylight vision.
Thus, my creatures come to me, solitary as
the bee, one by one, before all their descendants

Take flight.