Mountain

When you hear
the heart of the mountain,

something unnames you.


Breath braids with branch,

and your hands remember
stone
as if it once held your beginning.

You root in all directions.
You fall.
You rise.
You kneel.

When you feel the mountain’s heart,
you spill into everything,
those who once stood where you now stand,
and those who will walk
through your stillness.

And when you touch,
if you touch,
the heart of the mountain,
you listen to the moon.
You show, and you hide.
Fractured, whole.
You become the mountain.

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