A LANGUAGE
Today the sky is blue dust
and the mountains blue shadows
against the dust so only
the snow line across the peaks
actually exists, a scribbled
white cursive, words piling up
here and thinning out there,
like the long sentence you’d write
against the sky if you thought
you had that much to say.
—from Rattle #34, Winter 2010
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Robert W. King: “Where I live, along the front range of the Rocky Mountains, the view to the west is always changing and it never fails to invite poetic attention. One particular day, the snow-capped peaks stood out from every other aspect and helped begin the poem, ‘A Language,’ although the ending—and I always love this—was a surprise.” (web)
