High mountain near midnight bright moonlight outside the tent
and cold, and almost barefoot, but I was out there and I stopped,
suddenly, stopped,
cold, and looked at the landscape.
Moonlight on granite.
The granite held it all steady and solid:
mountain lake and the lakeside meadow, the peak above it,
and the rockstrewn snowpatched cliffs between.
But the moonlight made it magic — crystal, sparkled, rock-flecked magic.
The rock, like solid time, relentless …
draped in a silver moonlight as equally unreal as rock is real. my people asleep in the tent in the meadow.
The slopes, the pass, the peak, everything there rested on granite.
Think about solid rock, miles deep, mountains made of it, that’s the granite.
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