The Mountain
Slowly, we are strangling this world, devouring this world, with ourwill to control and own and have.
There is a mountain
somewhere
that nobody owns.
It has no name.
Maps only show
a few faint contour lines.
The winds don’t ask for permission
to blow across her rocky outfaces.
The birds don’t pay rent
to shit and nest up there.
There are no fences
anywhere within her shadow.
Nobody calls it home.
The mountain just is as it is.
Unconquered, unnamed, unclaimed.
Not owned,
even the sun
passes over twice a day
without fear of retribution.
I walk on the mountain’s back
with my load of sticks for
tonight’s fire
knowing
the mountain, this mountain
is my friend and friendship
makes no claim on the other.