Landslide

Suddenly what loomed
among lightning
and ravens' wings

has tumbled to the valley
and stalled
in a cumulus of dust,

the tentative talk
of the first birds after.
It used to sparkle

with ice or mica
or the purest dew possible.
(We were never sure which,

requiring as it did
a full day's climb—
the pitons and rope,

carabiner and crampon
a language we didn't hear
often enough.) I see now

it was a mixture of all
we walked on
and longed to rise above—

ordinary dirt, boulders,
moss, the roots still
holding to what let go.

Copyright © 2006 Charles Rafferty All rights reserved
from A Less Fabulous Infinity
Louisiana Literature Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission