Summit Meeting

the sky's transparency turns to rain, which isn't much trouble. a whittled down mountain like Everest (all legend, no action) stands three feet above your imagination: not much. so you see, rise and let the climbing begin. you see snow as a plaintive need to cower. you see air as a fabulous instigation, like you could arrive at party on fire. you can, try it. and as you try fire, day fades to night. well that it should. it is a winter covering, a respect of earth. we can take such a thing as a request to see death. death hits its mark atop Everest. see the lunar loss, the vision of chill, the statues made of people. feel definite, finally. death is a shaky town in a whirled ocean of feeling. people strand themselves then yell for glory. a rumble above is merely an avalanche. avalanches just make human call a number one. a few moments, say, beneath white blanket will startle you but it is just a mountain, just death, just a blue sky sometimes burnt into the world above. or rain, as this day knows. we may sleep later or run around a large rock. we may incline towards love because it is there. the sky's transparency is as grey as dictates. the rain feels fine and finely tuned. morning becomes eccentric.