In fall, when all the muscles and tendons
Of the mountain are struggling
To stretch out their bare stones, and
All the skies are waiting for the soft snow
To fall from those darker evenings;
I saw you standing there beside
The opaque lake, quivering in anticipation
Of what is to come, begin. And, and if the
Weight is to heavy to carry, to burdensome
To bear, then lean on those stronger slopes
Seize the moment of despair, and embrace
The grief of here and then. In me you have
Within in me there is, a way down to the valley
Where the desert begins, the red clay yearns
In such moments as these, sculpted as if to say
I too am standing, still.