With Friends on the Blue Ridge Many Years Ago

On the mellow mountain my friends and I

Wooed tricky streams and felt up trees.

Each strange leaf honored and many kissed,

We sipped perfect water and pissed in peace.

Insects embroidered music; light was an animal

Little but not weak that played hide-and-seek.

We pretended to argue and were almost sincere

Or more than sincere in bartering praise.

It is unchangeable fact that air adored our lungs—

And awed on a tall but considerate stone

We were instructed by color, the costume of the sky.

Since then our brains like acrobats,

Trained in secret, in gaudy caves

Have sometimes been loyal, have sometimes betrayed;

Our flesh sometimes failed; fear turned expert.

Death or shame is a judge who won’t forget;

Who insists on a decision though we soar from jail

In recklessly innocent, half-honest joy.

Despite the crime of our clumsiness,

We remember the silver,

The purity of delight,

Synesthesia and sinlessness,

The unstained yearning

Of our voices sustained

By undeceived inconceivable

Blessable air.

In the mystical mistiness

Of our blue mellow mountain

We yet track the trickiness

Of streams green as grass.

We still follow the untreacherous

Unfailing glow of air.

Does cruelty rule? Have our hearts changed to ash?

But the tall altar stands! The music remains!

       © Stephen Margulies, 2016

Blue Ridge Mountains
Photo by Jürgen Nagel
from Wikimedia Commons