| Mountain- Published in Aquilae Stilus 1998 The rustling mesh of leaves Settles deeper in its wet pile. The rake with broken teeth Is on strike tonight- He won't cooperate Or is his employer lying down on the job? The leaves are a wall Of leaden resistance Measured in millions of maple tree feathers That weigh too much for aching arms. The tree shivers- A stubborn child who won't wear his jacket. It's taking longer than I thought The rotting grass tickles inside my nose. Heavy leaves shift, restless A procrastinating bird Is plaintively pondering this cold. Sooty specters spear smoky silver sky- I finish my battle with the leaves; Mohammed has moved his mountain. Sighing, I put the toothy broomstick to bed And return to blankets and bedroom slippers- Victorious. |