didn’t want to be
a mountain at first
to get that far and foggy
with so many difficult
tributaries and ruined
photographs of petroglyphs
with a mind un-mined
of its irregularities those gems
but I like to keep
a little wine around
for cooking and such
what do you cook
myself he said
that was the dramatic
second act of this poem
and some have not returned
from intermission I sense
but let us begin again at the end
the world was once
a speck of dust
on which was laid
circle upon circle
millennia upon millennia
fervently and ambitiously
up to these nine layers
all the way up
this mountain of us
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