Mountain View

DAVID LOUGER

DAVID LOUGEE

MOUNTAIN VIEW

Those three men walking down that slope toward dawn

Which poses quietly above the sea,

Is no great matter now that you are here;

I have dreamt their slow descent, that early swim,

Too long not to imagine it by day.

And once your arms have whitely circled round

All that is known of fantasy and fear,

As though a wintry sheen had lidded time,

I shall not care what cabin windows tell. Outside,

The snows of your soft hair. Nothing at all, beyond.