he lies sleeping under
the sage green sheet
on his side turned away
from me and my intrusive light

the sheet is gathers about him
like grass upon the mountain range
that peaks at shoulders and hip

at tne bead head, a tangle
of jungle vines curled and intertwined
and the sound of a bear embarking
on a short winters hibernation

at the foot, ten pebbles of varying size
attached to two size eleven boulders
of a sunbrowned material
aged by sun, surf and sand
yet on the underside
a pale pink, reminiscent
of the delicate  inside
of the finest seashell

the grass on the upper reaches
of the moutain range, waves
as the wind sighes in and out
of the bear-cave mouth
and the plains of the lower
shift in small earthquake tremors
before settling in somulant torpor

when my man mountain sleeps ,he sleeps