Tag Archives: mountains

At the Edge of the Soccer Complex, Lynchburg, Virginia

At the Edge of the Soccer Complex, Lynchburg, Virginia

Versions of a corner. Red flag sticking out of the earth
where painted lines on the grass meet. Past it

chest-high chain link fences knot into a right angle
before the ground drops twenty feet down

a scrabbly bank on which lines cannot be drawn.
Past the parked cars an uneven stand of poplar and pine

waving like a tired family. Are they greeting us
or waiting for us to drive out of sight?

Then the foothills
where our preferences end.

How is it that mountains always seem to appear
by surprise? or a big word gathering quietly

in our ear, a thing without corners
growing inside a thing without corners,

a soccer ball knocking over a styrofoam cup of coffee
in the way a day may be suddenly knocked on its side

by a force that seems utterly foreign to it.
Crouching to save what’s left

I see the soccer field lines
as cave drawings of wordless heights fallen

on their sides and flattened, flag pinned to the top.

Driving Down the Mountain After Dusk

Driving Down the Mountain After Dusk


Dusk is finally gone but it has left a mark on the dark green slopes
like pencil has been rubbed over everything

You know there are trees there pines and oaks maples others
but now all you can verify is that it’s a hill with the disposition

of trees or a tendency towards treeness but it’s too dark
to prove the trees are there and we’re moving too fast

following a line we can’t see the end of but which we know
ends before daylight

Mountains Poured Over Mountains

Mountains Poured Over Mountains


A cloud shadow crawls across the bare mountainside
touching every tree. Small clouds seep and spread

along the ground like water, large clouds drop
heavily like whole trees being painted suddenly black.

One, then another, backlit by the trees still in light.
Funny to think of something bigger than a mountain

pouring over a mountain, its own peaks in constant change
enveloping what seems so changeless

but is really two images in today’s mirror.
Funny to see how quickly it spreads then leaves,

like something huge suddenly not remembered.
Yet it was there. Pushed by the invisible hill of wind

And over on this peak the sign of an old inn groans
and the paper darkens beneath my pen.