Whisper

Dark Mountain, whisper across
my valley, my spine.

If ever I turn like calm tide
it is toward your hot appetite,
sweating sweet pine across
empty June nights.

Blood echoes throughout
my arid river. I am twisted
in expressed wish.

Your land slides;
hands down thick mounds
of victory –

for you. For me,
you are empty;
the last trace of you drips
from the lips of
another – but where is she,

Dark Mountain, where is she?

Diamonds

She is fierce perfection,
parallel to the sky,
matching rock for rock.
The sky’s diamonds sparkle for her
and we stomp on her beauty,
each day, yet she is soft leather
under our ignorance.

They talk about her like I do not know
already. She is  arid,
angry!
She stretches over death,
impregnating fire
with fire. She is malignant perfection

and I am her sister.