The year I left home
was years in the making;
Clouds gather before the rain;
you make a mountain in an instant.
The moment the earth tides crash
fissures scar the landscape irreversible –
mountains and valleys and texture
and summits.
“Texture makes meaning” my teacher told me in
a class on the English language. The word was
contact. “Feeling is friction.” Clouds will
gather, then wash with the rain —
but the mountains
they stay forever.