There it is
another mountain for a minute
a blue-gray mass building to a
roseate-washed billow-scramble
and continuing upward
in neck-straining and
soul-lifting
verticality
to a muscular crown
an evanescent Everest
at thirty-thousand feet
—
Assemble now
you climbers
throw your ropes over
your shoulders
pack your bags for long days
and precipitously bivouacked nights
where your crystallized breath
sticks to brow or beard
and unites with the lattice-work
of this vaporous sculpture
a monument for all time
passing in nearly no time
—
Pull on your boots
and then
stare
while your mind
claws upward
even now it thirsts for each
vertical foot
each bulbous overhang
of that baseless behemoth
that great god of summer
already to pass.