THE HABIT OF MOUNTAINS
It was his grief pursued the habit of mountains:
It moved his world. Quietness moved them.
It was his grief pursued the habit of mountains:
It moved his world. Quietness moved them.
There is no dearer madness than this desire:
A will to perish in time and manner he chose.
It could not have been any kinder than this falling,
A manner of bargaining one’s way into a choice
between a kind of dying and being dead, no option
for us who learn, too early perhaps, that death
prorogues dreams or prayers of willing our pain
stay the ramrod poised to rend out days descending
foglike upon us, decreeing silence for our bed.
A will to perish in time and manner he chose.
It could not have been any kinder than this falling,
A manner of bargaining one’s way into a choice
between a kind of dying and being dead, no option
for us who learn, too early perhaps, that death
prorogues dreams or prayers of willing our pain
stay the ramrod poised to rend out days descending
foglike upon us, decreeing silence for our bed.
--- ALBERT B. CASUGA
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