Some say the pursuit
is too dangerous
and too arduous
for one so old
And yet, even
at night
the icy slopes
shine
and tell me
the mountain
has a heart
so I feel
for the foothold,
tenuous
amid the
crags
though in a moment
this complexity
can shrug me
to ice fields
below.
Sometimes I ask
'Why has my mountain
hidden her heart?
Has her heart been wounded?
Is her heart distant only
to make mine stronger?
Or is peril
her way of knowing
only the worthy
will arrive.'
I have seen the warm tidal pools
by the shore
And I have seen the heart of
a meadow pulse in the spring
And these are beautiful.
Yet, it is the hidden mountain
heart that draws me
For I know it is there
And feel it in the rush of mountain streams,
And hear it in the echo of hidden valleys,
And imagine, perhaps, over this cold ledge
or beyond this pack of ice
It will be there
most beautiful because
it has been hidden
and most warm,
because it embraces
after the coldness of the climb.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
My God, this is impressive. Superb imagery