Wind Searches The Mountain

The soul searches the skin
Water searches the rocks
For the places worn thin
Where one gives and lets
The one into the other.
Under the great Twmpa the mountain God
Hunched, Atlas upholding rock on that muscled back
But one day he will break through – his hair
Will blow with autumn bracken
He’ll know the piercing hymn of kites
And how the sun warms
And then covers her face with darkness and starts.
When under the great mountain
The great mountain God stirs –
The flood of light concealed in matter released –
His back will turn to rippling gold
And each dark mountain thing – stone, earth –
Will surprises us with light
Where we saw only blackness.
Above the Twmpa the sun
Spawns tiny dragons, thousands of ragged mouths
Quivering as they rush and rattle
Through the universe flashing
Red-yellow tongues, eyes bugled to bursting
In the heat of release
Burning on the path to extinction
Feathering the trees, the mountain
Our upturned faces with warmth
Melting our masks, our pasts
Until no lines remain
No wall no skin
Until all lets go of all
And we are free
To run and lie in the shallow scrapes
In the fields with the hares
And are gathered up again
In her white arms, our pelts and hearts
Throbbing under her hand.

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