FOR THE

MOUNT-AINS

ALEXIS BEITTEL

The bumps in your vertebrae
Match the ridges of the mountain line
As you lay your head on the moss
And scratch your fingers along the
Sky, between the paper scrappy birches
That fall
Tattered,
Snow

Here you are,
Among the whistling woods
Among what can’t be yours for long
But long enough to know what there is to lose

Here you are,
For the mountains
For the damp soil
For the evergreens and the
Etched pain, the etched
Pleasure, etched words of wisdom
That drip
Sappy slow

By rivulets and smokey boons
Bye tip-tapping deer
Buy a song from the arms
Of the ones that sculpt you

Here,
You’re by a windowless room
And you’re hallowed here
Once your eyes can adjust