Mountains in Mist

I can’t see the mountains tonight …

mist makes microcosms of us all,
turning the eyes from greater things
to the internal eternity that heaves
life,      death,     life,      death
over and over and over again.

For once, we forget our smallness
and the way the world dwarfs our hearts,
caught up in the swirling spirit-sphere
of emotions, notions from childhood that
once we too could touch the clouds because

the clouds came down to us
and without a word or wish,
we are all alone, with nothing,
nothing but
the intimate embrace of
heaven-kissing-earth

as
we be
come the
mountain.