at first i didn’t know how to talk to mountains
as i looked at it transluscentized by distance.
i knew that yelling would do little good—
what if his ears were on the other side?
i would put my ears towards the sunrise as well
i wanted to greet the mountain this morning
to shake his hand or kiss him on the nose
but i worried climbing up, i think, his backbone
how heavy is the shirt that he wears?
i think he yells at the moon each night.
the moon is where dead mountains go after death.
is a mountain range one or two people?
how many mountains are buried on the moon?
i told the mountain to come down from his high place.
once i found out how to speak to him.
he said he was stuck underneath himself.
he said so much depended on him he didn’t want to move
i understood that
i didn’t want to move either, because so much depended on me.