I walked through the cloud, the cloud walked
through me. It was like this for a long time
called morning.
From the cloud I saw
only what I saw—this step down,
this loose tooth of rock.
Slowing my pace, the cloud
moved faster, peeled back one corner shrouding
the mountain before me,
that I didn’t know
was there. The sky breathed heavy again.
Cold mist hung waiting
to be caught by the wind
that rules changes here.
Each time the veil slips down,
each time
it lifts a little, I wait,
half-expecting to see
a new landscape,
like wanting to fall
back asleep
to enter a new dream.
How silly
to have thought I was alone. Here
come children,
mouths all black
with wild blueberries.
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4 comments:
this poem has a particular layout on the page that blogger simply will not respect. i've made repeated attempts.
crazy fog! where was this?
The stanza that begins "each time the veil slips down" is exquisite.
I'm not sure you even need the rest.
Krkonoše mountains, on the border between the Czech Republic and Poland.
Very Louise Gluck (that's a compliment.) I loved this immediately.
Consider sharpening the last stanza:
How silly
to have thought I was alone.
Here come children (or, "Here children come")
mouths black
with blueberries.
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