Mountains

I'll take my ramen to go this time
there are mountains awaiting
out in the briny deep. they sit,
hovering in space painted white
with snow. and somewhere along
the way, they learned my name,
maybe God taught it to them. For
they whisper it from 3000 miles
away, across oceans. Now, here
I am to answer them. Here I am
to walk along their mighty faces,
to hold them by their apex, to
swing them around my shoulder.
Here I am to rest at their feet and
listen to them tell ghost stories as
the fire in the fireplace crackles.
tales of Chinese immigrants, and
gold rushes. tales of faceless
multitudes, all individually elite.
tales of the places I have been,
the people I have loved, the foot
prints where I've walked. And
then, to whisper in great climax
some new and unflinching truth;
maybe there is something great.
maybe there is something greater
than me. maybe I should just be
still and listen to the ghost stories.