the lonely mountain apotheosis
H. Sanders
In the mountains at night,
eating beans and drinking
whiskey you’ll look at the
fire and the fire is all else.
you make you happy, being
alone for a while, being
the only thing for a while.
Some say God is Fire and is Other
and so for all intents and purposes
it’s you and God in a black space
of no echo, the occasional sleepy
gnat, angel, ghost drifting up and
over with the embers, so synchronized
it seems he’s met them before.
and the ground if you could be sure it still existed would be
black,
and the dampened fallen trees if you could be sure they still existed would be
black
and the static fizzing ocean if you could be sure it still existed would be
black
and the curious ground squirrels black,
the clustered hill flowersblack
and
no sound
passes the popping logs and
no thing
is seen past the smoke but
Suddenly—
there is a fire elsewhere you can see,
in all the blackness, a fire.
there is a blur across it,
an orbiting body. This
body makes you happy,
though you will not test
the blackness to touch it,
but you are glad for more
bodies in your universe
and you wish them well,
you wish them whiskey,
you wish them beans,
and a soft sleep when
the gods burn out.
