If you go far enough into the mountains
They will close around you
bewitch you like a ring—
the one you wear or wore or will wear
to remind you of faith love loyalty—
the vague promises of youth.
They will take you in whole,
larger than life, a legend of your dreams
the spring of self and joy in your feet
belief of forever warm in your belly
a smell like daffodils leading you further
toward the highest—the ram-gamboled—
rocky, wisp wreathed planes.
If you go far enough, as few do—
If you step past the last wire’s barb,
past the jeep track that runnels away,
while others peek through shuttered gaps
at the bruised sky swinging an arm against them,
grinding their knees gritty in belief
that knees will shape a twisted wind’s pity—
If you go far enough into the wild
you will pass milk river
which if you taste (as you must)
will be sour and honey.
You will walk lamb and lion meadows.
You may stroke the lion, it’s the best you can do.
Her claw will harrow you, indifferent
of fist or caress. You will hear a wind sing.
And if you go far enough,
gravity will teach you the art
of using calluses and raw quick to grope
and scrabble for grip.
And all the prayers and rails you raise
with your voice to God and the raven blessed air
will dwindle with a thin falling.
And if you rise again, as you may, it will be
in the lamb lion and feather spiraling wind.
Posted in response to the Ragtag Daily Prompt Freedom. “If you Go Far Enough” first appeared in the collection “Dazed Part of Light” by Lee Robison.