A step by boulder
In this town, the mountains are human–
violent neighbors forced into residence.
The rocks are subtle,
written by movement,
integrated by throwing relief
into a dusty pool.
I don’t want them to stop,
because I feel reckless
when there is no evidence
that catches me
strangling every
minute’s memory.
What would you do to me,
if you knew what I did
to the mountains to
enjoy their savage,
wrongful, gestures?