Snow…

There is a flame, a core at the center of all such things as Mountains. They Pulse; shimmer, their stars arched in overhead ecstasies. Clouds curl and cool the peak. Good things viewed and loved from the comforts of warm wools, knit caps. We stand and admire. Feeling the world beneath not so much spinning without us, but altogether spinning. The night rockets fore and aft. The stars scream and fail, spectacularly visible. I stand looking at this. Unthinking though not unhinged. Lovely, unknowable, this blessed peak.