Snow School

There’s an unspoken peace
about a mountainous place
through valley and river and
tree covered face -

from summit to summit,
laid by a sun in a grille,
treading thin middle lines
light to darkness, at will.

A tremendous high feeling,
not a singular sound,
but the sound of your breathing
as your heart starts to pound -

Your legs turn to slack,
at your unbreakable speed
shifting unfocused,
from want onto need -

Mist on the mountains,
as the clouds each unfold,
slip fleeting each by,
each is a story untold

The trees whip the wind
into a regular pace,
a natural be-bop,
that your mind can erase -

as it grapples with changes,
beyond its command,
more life than can handle,
more love than withstand.