He, of the Echoing Mountains

He is made of the mountains
with a beard trimmed in snow

He sings drinking songs that
howl down through the hills
And his dancing
(more like jumping)
is thunderous
as it cracks through the high thin air.

His open palms are valleys
with rivers at their base.
His legs are stout
hidden beneath the surface
of great high-reaching peaks.

When he opens his eyes
the largness of his surroundings
His reach is so vast
that his appreciation of possession
is limited to
the night sky.

When the light
of the borealis comes to life
he pushes his hands into the sky
attempting to touch the flares
that will always escape him.


6 thoughts on “He, of the Echoing Mountains

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