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
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.