I walked through mountains
once, in my sleep
there were avens
everywhere
springing from grit and shale
a kestrel wheeling
a pica's whistle
and so far I could hardly hear it
a horned lark's cry

Or was it you calling out
with the high, wild wind
calling out your name
spiralling mare's tails
across the thin sky
rustling the low stars
clustered at my feet

Surely it was you
in the white rush of water
cascading in a blue tumult
towards me from the peaks

exultant over stone