Mountains on the Sea

Mountains on the sea,
roving clouds plug the blue sky
which otherwise, onrushing,
would drive the sensitive ones mad.
Bizarre deeper blueness of the folds
where the sky has buckled
beneath its own eternities,
or where some poet god
has crumpled and torn up
and cast away his pages.
And the water,
neutral, pliable sheet,
simply mimics the colder blue
in its reflected world,
infinite rhyme and simile.
Mountains on the sea
silent between two immense canvas,
sometimes horror plastered
with reds and golds,
yet they tolerate the commerce
of things foolish as mountains,
like ponds that bear the
leaves’s fragile cargo at dusk.

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