Now you take your tea
far from the mountain.
There are
no more bouts
of wilderness,
no more blind cliffs
rushing the sky,
no more opened veins
of sunrise
at the horizon.
You have fled the mountains
for the fainthearted land
breaking forward and flat,
land of impatience
where no sleep is found
in the red eyelid of an anvil summer,
no way to catch a breath in the
long while of winter.
About Dean Baltesson:
Dean Baltesson lives in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, where he spends most his time writing music and poetry. He has been published in Island Writer and IthacaLit and is slowly tending to a manuscript of his poems.
"the long while of winter," yes!
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