To The Mountain
By Ann Huang
To the mountain you run from disquiet, listen to the plane overhead,
like road dust on a runway of fallen umbrella-masked
men—
all earth’s riddles unite and foreshadow what it contains,
unlike bare maidens with pearl chains on their necks.
The mountains await the animal spoor that might come,
you know a body can expose age and timeless aging,
your mind can dissipate without meeting dark and mundane,
when it hinders a waking soul with whose life it echoes.
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