Those Sunless Mountains

How cold they look,
those sunless mountains:
ancient, grey, and weary.
Birds have abandoned us
but no ice will suffice
my retreat. I am here,
here with sunless mountains–
alone.

I shall never leave,
even when the snow
flurries and blurries their
craggy faces like porcelain
masks. I will crack the masks
with an avalanche
echo.

In the valley, rivers root
in my mountains deep
and come spring streams’ll sing,
like living water bursting from
a stone.

I will cup my hands
and bow my head
down to mother earth.
Lifting my Eban-ezer,
so sweet, but still I
moan down in my
bones.


The morning breaks
over my sunlit mountains

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