“A veil!” someone shouted.  I remember the cry.  Agreement surged from gasping elders and wide-eyed youths alike.  The first man to move snatched a scarf from his startled daughter and threw it at me to wrap over your head.  He couldn’t imagine touching you himself.

We needed that veil for the shining face of yours.  Radiation, of course, must be contained.  We couldn't have anyone blinded or infected.  The double fold of linen stuck to your forehead at first, your sweat thick like dew the cold morning after a thunderstorm.  Wrinkles whiskered in is fibers as your face strained into expressions few mortals have had cause to make.

That mountain was saturated in every form of electromagnetic radiation and energies unknown. It bludgeons the heart.  Melts the eyes.  The people could not bear the sight of anyone who had come so close to such a power.  I think their hearts needed a good bludgeoning.

The wind streaked your hair for a micro-eternity.  It retained the swept-up form for nearly an hour, though no one could tell once you put on the veil.  Have you touched it to see if it is still cold?

Your fingers—what was on them?  Smoke, or earth?  Melted stone?  Incinerated atmosphere? Pure carbon, black as the abyss and under nearly enough pressure to crystalize into diamonds rarer than hope? When you grabbed my arm with those fingers, I nearly screamed.  You left black marks everywhere.

What does the veil cover now?  It's edges are no longer like the cracks beneath Heaven's doors.  What is it you wish to hide?  Isn’t it time for this mask to be cleft by a seraph's sword?

Of  moving outside our comfort zones
Would you think to meet your echoes?
By hiding in the mountains there are choices:

To turn your back on what you have become,
A wander goat or a missionary bird?

To embrace the fear of knowing that you can go beyond,

To hold your breath, bring the mountain into routine being.

Don’t we all have our mountains to climb,
believe it or not
When we do, the view is amazing

Today,
I plainly could see your infinite demure.

Today,
I understood your yearnings for bluejays and loons.

Today,
You cuddled me with all your splendor and virtue.

Today,
You loved me as your own child.

Today, Canada
I am crying with tears of joy.

A short but intense melody
Catching up with the seen and unseen.

Boundary of day and night,
Where earth's surging spin
Inexorably melts 
Cascading aches and melancholy spills 


Thirsty planets open,
For the ****** of rockets and unfurling of roots.
Nature holds her breath
and decides to wait.
The bursting promise within
the boundary of mountains and water
Life hesitates 

Where serenity of silence rules over this deserted border.
Seen or unseen,the border of unconsciousness.

I thought I had fallen and
everything was over
but again
From my small pieces
I became a strong mountain
Mohamadreza baseri

I went down to Lloyd center
Looking for you
But a mouth full of anger
Blocked my view
He took your hand
There in the skating rink
God will give him blood to drink

Saw the two of you leaving
I didn't want to follow behind
But I could see the rest of your evening
Burning in my mind
Sky's black
The moon's pink
God will give him blood to drink

I looked over the railing
The ice was white
On the north-east side
Where I saw you and your boyfriend
On a Friday night
I went mining for gold
I struck pure, fresh zinc
God, God will give him blood to drink

The man from the sea
Salty, wind-blown hair
Wood-worn hands from the ships
Eyes to see land along the horizon
Mouth to sing with the voices of the waves
Rocking, iron legs, made for the sea

The man from the trees
Tangled, leaf-filled hair
Calloused hands from climbing
Eyes to see disguises in the branches
Mouth to sing with the melody of the birds
Jumping, strong legs, made for the trees

The man from the sands
Sandy, sun-scorched hair
Nimble hands from the ropes and silky sand
Eyes to see amidst the light from the sun
Mouth to sing with the cat-calls of the burning winds
Moving, steady legs, made for the sands

The man from the grasses
Sweaty, sun-bleached hair
Paper-cut hands from weaving through the blades
Eyes to see danger amidst the weeds
Mouth to sing with the whispers of the rustling stalks
Skipping, quick legs, made for the grasses

The man from the river
Dripping, slicked-back hair
Smooth hands from the flowing water
Eyes to see fish amongst the rocks
Mouth to sing with the sound of flowing river
Slow-moving, quiet legs, made for the river

The man from the mountain
Thick, shadow-covered hair
Hard hands from the heavy stones
Eyes to see distantly from the mountaintop
Mouth to sing with the tumbling rocks
Trodding, stout legs, made for the mountain

The man from the ice
Frozen, ice-cold hair
Blue hands from the frostbite
Eyes to see places where the surface is thin
Mouth to sing with the crackling of the frozen ground
Tip-toeing, careful legs, made for the ice

where is the end
everyone has their own
everything is included
flowing waters will find their end and last droplet
winged beasts will land one last time
clouds in the heavens will rain no more
where is the end
fish in all waters will complete their last swim
insects crawling and buzzing about will settle in at last
wheat, corn, and all plants can't take the lack of liquid
mountain peaks, rolling hills, great vast plains hear nothing
where is the end
is there an end
waters may never find that last drop
beasts of the air may never land
rain will always be
fish swimming in the waters will be there
all plants will drink in the moisture of the land
mountain peaks, rolling hills, great vast plains will be listening
we can stop the end
we ALL can stop the end...

Brian Hill - 2020 # 115