a mountain

a mountain
              to Duncan Watt

Mt. Satseto or Yulongshan. Attribution: Evilbish [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)%5D, from Wikimedia Commons

you open the door
a door that is friend
in its wood its paint that
smells still of its making
such a door its panels
sawn patted & nailed
into place by a knowing
hand such a door

outside you look in that
direction
whence come your days
a mountain there of
what was, what is & what
is coming through shade
fed with handfuls of sun
that something almost
a word so close to
the tongue or sense
of speaking it comes

somebody is waving
from those flanks
of journey horse-drawn

the rising sea

the rising sea

looking good
out on the deck
a decent mug of tea
a book to absorb
you dig out things
you never even
knew of yourself
reading with thin
elegant glasses
and watching us
on the daily traipse
to the bus-stop….
i wished i could join
her it looked good
to be out of all
this every day
every day driven
in like a nail
routine
you could see
her as on an island
a peaceful shore
around her garden
the sky was calm
as a low-tide this
morning things
of quiet interest

of hands

of hands

Image courtesy of http://www.healthline.com

i saw a
photo of hands
wondered if we
needed
any other
view of each other

than this    the fingers    open hand
over hand over hand

no minds
no tongues
cheating us
out of ourselves

no fists
no metal
breaking us
apart on ourselves

no eyes