peak
stone,
breath slows,
clouds pause,
wind grows spare,
a chamois cuts the slope,
spruce needles thin the sky,
stones warm from yesterday’s sun,
marmots whistle once, then vanish into dirt,
pine resin thick in the air, the river talking below,
bells from grazing sheep, boots soaked through with dew,
the valley spreads its grasses wide and still, holding every sound