The granite ribs and peaks
of the mountain rise out of ponderosa pine.
Turning from my pillow,
I look over the wrinkles and ridges,
unblemished crests slipping from the
robe of shadows.
The beauty there, sunlight blinking
on the bluff’s bare skin, not trying to be
anything but herself,
whispers like footsteps on the crisp, aspen floor.
Standing in the mirror of an alpine pond,
inattentive to her reflection.
Gray wisps of cloud tuck behind spires,
revealing the scars of slow glaciers,
paths to the summit.
Poem by Matthew Miller.
Matthew Miller teaches social studies, swings tennis rackets, and writes poetry – all hoping to create home. He and his wife live beside a dilapidating orchard in Indiana, where they try to shape dead trees into playhouses for their four boys. His poetry has been featured in River Mouth Review, Club Plum Journal and Ekstasis Magazine. His website is https://mattleemiller.wixsite.com/poetry.