On This Rock

Mountains rise above us like ideas Vague in their superior extent, Part of the range of disillusionment Whose arresting outline disappears Into the circumstantial clouds that look Like footnotes from above. What wisdom said The mind has mountains? Imagination read The history of the world there like a book. Playing peek-a-boo with famous peaks Afflicted with the vapours leaves a sense, Frowned down upon by all that bleak immense City of rock and ice, that men are freaks, In the original program of creation, Afterthoughts. Each jack pine seems a brother; Even in lichens we perceive another Example of our own organization, Tenacious, patient, in a century Growing perhaps a quarter-of-an-inch: Glaciers do more daily, an avalanche In minutes. The eroded immobility Attributed to mountains is a fable, Like the Great Divide. They move when you’re not looking, Like stars and stocks, distinctly better looking From a distance, and chronically unstable.