It came crashing down, in a cloud of ice and smoke.
I saw it from my window.
The impact made an awakening.
A tremor deep inside the mountain,
Solid granite that soared high above
A dark valley,
Which was perpetually whittled by the river.
A river known as Metamorphosis.
The rise etched into the gloom,
And I, through the paned glass,
Discerned smoke, above the timberline.
A fire from a star’s precipitous tumble
To the rocky enclave.
Such an event to observe!
Alone, and in the dark.
The stoic pines,
Each whimpering for a loss,
The murmur of the fear beyond the dawn.
The Black Swift soaring silently,
Beneath the veil of soft stellar light.
The rocks’ pink veins,
The silver, the mica all milled to dust,
And the clouds in the river’s water.
None of that I could see,
For it was dark,
In the shade of the moon.
I crossed the threshold,
And I met the columbines swaying to music
Carried in the fog and breath from heaven.
And amongst the creaking moans came the roar.
The roar of Metamorphosis.
I moved between the knotted bark,
Crunched through the scattered needles,
To the banks, the pebbled shores.
It smelled of an ocean’s salt and decay.
The cosmic smelting in an afterglow
Up, against the dark horizon.
Ashes wept from the meteorite concussion,
Carried by the solar wind of space,
And floated like shadows,
Onto the tension of the river.
The rapids swiftly churned,
And I, blindly stepped into the current,
Aching with trepidation and lingering with defeat,
I became immersed in the dark chasm of the river.
I battled against Metamorphosis.
The rock facade towering above.
An ominous wall of ledges, and faults.
The Wall of Spirits.
Echoed by the water’s roar,
My panic was lost amongst the slabs,
Feet bloodied by the jagged and the brilliant,
I climbed to the flicker of space’s delight,
As the Wall of Spirits disappeared beneath me.
Obscured by the night,
The cliff merged into Metamorphosis.
Then, at the summit,
Balanced amongst the ancient towers of crag,
The Wall of Spirits dominated all the greatness
And the darkness,
Cradling galactic remains of silicate and iron,
Crushed and smelted from its dark flight.
From the solar reflections
I could see, the zenith of the sky,
And I could feel the strange and majestic.
In the midst of the unperceived,
A continued existence remained,
The Black Swift to its young,
The Wolf to its prey
As the moon began its wane.
In absolute and alone I succumbed
To the silence and the illumination.
The Wall of Spirits kissing the constellations
Above the constant roar.
The roar from Metamorphosis.