Tumbling Mountain Of Night Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Smoke builds up
to the moment of a climb
as dim waves

roll in and rise
with a humming wind.

Evening's cream lather
foams into a light gray
spray still full of suds.

Floating like goggled insects
with no chirp
or trace of hanging whisper

in their mouths melting
with the dim light
of early night's dripping candle

of a sun already dead
in its tight nest,
as a moon's hands

shift its fingers through
shadows. But late evening
still builds up

with a dark cloud shot
by sky's fire of pink and ruby

sprays and sprinkles
quickly swallowed

by night in its half-graphite
cloak dimming
into charcoal overalls

over baggy slate
pants, but night's iron hat

lifts it above its shoulders
to continue a climb
on a swelling mountain of night.

(ii)

Night crawls climbing
it's mountain
of darker, ebony slopes

weaving onyx sheets
into jet black fabric
and a swinging spider screen,
standing a full blackboard.

On a giant mammal of night
no spark
from night's bellows
welding dim stars.

No trace of a candle's lips
from a thick denim
black coat with jade collars,
as the sky begins

to bleach its skin slowly
into cotton waves from a gold
and brighter silver lake

shooting back in shifts
beams from a moon
on a screen still darkening
itself with black powder.

(iii)

We've climbed. We've climbed
night's darkest
peak on a mountain of jade,

love's moment
switching on
a moon in full bloom
under a ceiling,

its yawn knocking down
a mountain of night
to tumble over to its feet.

As it snow flags of daylight
brewed by a moon
still wiping off clouded eyes
raised to the sky.

To pour down
a shower of moonlight
rising taller and taller

than a dwarfed
and swallowed mountain of night

taken over by purple
and indigo flames from candles
in a billowing waxy night,

the beaming face
of a popping man exploding
into white petals of daffodils.