god of the mountain

who was it
that walked these hills
and with a stamp of his feet
shuddered the stone
to shingle

who lit the blaze
beneath the land
to turn this mountain
into a cone filled with fire

I see the signs
but I don’t know

the blue-grey haze
obscures me

yet when the sun
on the sandstone in the evening
glows red
I can almost see a face
like the picture of a man
in the mountain

© Frank Prem, 2016

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