re-working this one.
When I got the call in the morning
about the thing we feared you would
finally do we ran to the mountain.
Pine trees blend with the ocean
and rungs are mounted to see
the most perfect view of every world.
There, the sunrise happens first
so the next morning after you still had done
what we feared we went there.
We saw morning before everyone and
I called since maybe things would be
different if I talked to you first.
Over in the small village in the Horn
above the gulf of Guinea the man climbs
up a mountain in broken flip-flops.
He climbs up trees to eat oranges
and give tours to make money to buy yams.
It had rained and the mountain was mud
and still he climbed
never worrying that
he would slip.
His feet were meant for the ground.
Your feet were meant to stay on the ground.
Even without the expensive hiking boots,
(you would think if we loved each other
it would be easy to love.
You would think we’d climb mountains.)
We held our breath at the top of the mountain
We wanted to believe you would be pleased.
We took off our clothes at the top of the mountain
We wanted to come in air that was very thin.
We jumped off the ledge at the top of the mountain
We wanted in bad dreams.
We loved every single moment at the top of the mountain
We were consumed by its maternal grip.
It’s folding and volcanic and dome and plateau,
It descends upwards like an angel.
Angels live on mountains
so they went to see if he was there.
To fall from each sky,
the summit where the view will convince
anyone the land is worth breathing for
You did not jump.