Dear God,

this beautiful ash coloured Sulphur Mountain,

made of stone and glacial ice,

surrounded by wisps of smoke,

that we call cloud,

but I call heaven.

…………………….

As the eagle soars,

like a king of the highest reaches,

my tears speak for my lost speech, patterns of nomenclature,

I have lost my desire for words.

…………………………….

And I thought about writing poetry,

high up in the immovable mountains,

Google Images

while transitioning to the pure sounds of silence,

and the sensations of sheer height.

………………………………

There is still beauty in this world.

There is still conviction in human warmth,

as the family in the dangling Gondola next to me reminds me.

They wave in excitement,

leaning out of the window, just slightly enough

to catch every glimpse of the pristine forests.

Google Images

………………….

This is

the finest grain

of life.

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