Fall 2010 / Issues / Poetry 2010 / Volume 41

The Mountain — Elle Pryor

Cosmos pollen loosens over trail shoes,

spitfire dragonflies fan the tongue’s ridge.

Dust covered with the needle pinned path,

sole dyed with the green of smear grass.

Zoetic forest, air licked by lizards

ferns coated with insect fur,

drowning in sound, a cuckoo call

ogling frog drops its bulbous lid.

Farmed fields caress the calm base,

tadpole pools cool rough tufts of shoot,

wish stone stacks grow as if sown.

Fossil rocks are blighted by dry beds.

Amid the wood, shrines are sprinkled.

Hangul curves carve the granite.

Monk bones fill the domed hummocks.

Bamboo thrums through the echo.

Crawl and walk of splintered beauty,

the ripple of the snakes winding slither,

undulating caterpillars,

the flop hop of a scared hare.

Mosquito sting itches and weeps,

reed plants dance beneath the peak’s bees.

My awe grows like rice in water,

pine cone scent rests on my nose.

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