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
