Walked out of the mountain,
Screamed center of crumbling granite,
being cisterns,
veins of glass,
scattered throughout,
So full it walks about by itself,
What few oak scrubbed the floor,
Of the world worked through sound,
Did I hear it?
Say, dare asked questions,
from the small hematite in my left shoe,
I knew already,
There I had been,
In the shadow of a mountain,
A greedy mountain of granite,
Catching the sun like glass,
of what would have been a soul,
before it is buried,
in a dark wet cave,
that very hard to find,
on the mountainside,


One Response to “mountainside”

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