Finally at last the half
light and the long shadow when the
mountains grey and the grass vibrant, still
cloud-tight green, stuck in metallic-
stone that speaks and hears as if it was
human. So it was, this twisting
human stood cold, shadowed summer,
unmoved as stone by still-times
when the mountains were warm and turned
pale to green and are covered with
flowers and animals. Human, it goes
wreathed in wishes, runs toward other
humans from the brain—shimmer
gold with green – so lovely that love
comes to rest in its shadow, it,
who has caught mountain between
speed, faster far than fused metal.
No magic stone shares this power.
No grass-blade can heal attack. Having
fled through fields, over the mountains,
to escape from such humanness, there is no wall, no
peak, no green leaf, can ever shade
from such light. Time was, seen
dressed in green, so lovely
it would have made a stone love itself
as it did, who loved its very
shadow. Time was, loved once in
the grass, it loving as ever
a human was, and the mountains
around us; humans around us. But
for sure rivers will flow back
to the mountains before this forest,
full of wood and green,
ever catch fire again from this now,
as lovely humans do—
who would be glad to sleep away their
lives turned to stone, or live on grass,
if only it could be where its
bodies would cast their shadows.
Now when the shadow of the mountains
is metallic-darkest, under vibrant brain-
green, youthful humanism creates and
vanishes away at last, as if
it hid a stone in the grass.


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