Here, in
The night,
Was the end
Of the range:
Ultimate and
Abrupt, its
Great chest
Thrust into
The plain,
And made
A division
Of the darknesses,
Opaque from
Oceanic blue.

But
Where, on
Its flanks,
The snow
Had formed
An absolute
Frontier,
A perfect,
Horizontal
Tropic, the
Peaks above
Had disappeared,
Had dissolved in
The corrosion
Of starlight
And ice.

It was as if
Above that line
The mountains ceased,
Or, more likely,
Were transformed,
And rose up,
Undetectable, on
And on without end.

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This poem is from early in my career, when life seemed simpler. Blanca Peak anchors the southern tip of the Rockies in Colorado, at the entrance to the San Luis Valley. Readers who enjoy this poem might also enjoy "Crestone Peak", a longer and more ambitious poem in a similar format. Email me for a copy. Crestone Peak is a little north of Blanca.