There is life between the peaks

grey ash falls from the glaciers

direct triangle orders ascend

until they break off at the sky

or at the top of my paper

when I drew mountains as a child.

White clouds take over the mountains

just before storms

and just after.

The sun swirls like ovals

into the red-orange sky, black shimmering rock

most of the landscape

the mountains, the alps

one large echoing room.


Grey soapstone rivers to the left and right

grey ice rivers

the mountains cup in the south

a hilly incline to the Jungfrau

we walk into their huge valley over the saddle

and head north to the gorge

are held in a glove until leaving Switzerland for Italy.


The alps are so large that cities hide in her shadows

an orchestrated sound of wind strikes

far away church bells and cow chimes

sound like dropping stones into a shallow creek

the mountains are an entire raised ocean of frozen waves

we walk in the dissipating midst

easily disoriented

there is a jagged sunset, the outline of the sky blurred

with the misty clouds.

we capture the sunset on the underbelly of a cloud

smoking the dusty alpine air.


In a cave

along the black rugged walls

granite rock, my husband

releases his hand

opens it to many years

of rivers and verrigation

of a dusty sky

a wispy earth.

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