POETRY: White Mountains by Robert Cording

White Mountains by Robert Cording

At times they nested above us,
Hugely fixed in silent considerings,
Shadow lakes pooled along their sides
As rafts of clouds passed across
The sun. At other times, weightless
As breath, chameleonlike,
They could take the color of rain
And vanish behind a scrim of cloud.
Always expected and always strange—
How, staying in exactly the same place,
The mountains were continually leaving,
Day after day, the gray rock
At the peaks gradually darkening
To smoky blue, becoming unmoored
In the Chinese-misted drift of evening.
All that summer as we read or turned
From books, as we stood on the porch
Or moved through our daily tasks
Toward each other, they bridged
Our pleasure and our pain. In the end
We came to believe the mountains
Brought us to some acceptance
Of loss—if only that their high,
Indifferent, ceaseless passing away
Became our only  home, their shadow
Line of smoke like the smoke
From the dozen houses on Ridge Road
Where, talking in whispers before sleep,
We spoke of what is still to be done,
The day gone by so unaccountably fast.

3 Comments on POETRY: White Mountains by Robert Cording

  1. Love this… which white mountains?

    Like

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