I’m no snowier now the mountains
grow between my shoulders
I carry a crying mountain
kiss his cheek
the bellowing expanse
between his sleep
my nerves a rockfall
sweeping cracks
and chimneys
on the face I’m no snowier
than when i froze
seeing a mountain born
his tiny voice
a facsimile of meadows
and grinding stones
I’m the same
sheep home
the place where trees stop
and marvel
at how little has changed
this century
If every dad, every parent wrote poetry, I swear we would not be in this shit. Beautiful.
ReplyDeletewould be a beautiful children’s book <3
ReplyDelete