Anne Woodborne

My Mountain Faces

I watch the passage of the sun and moon-face
with stony eyes set in my implacable face.

Long ago, fire and fumes belched from my open maw,
my molten self erupted to free my dragon face.

Now, in my mountain steadfastness there is a core
that can never be eroded; a granite face.

My careful mountain goat picks its surefooted way,
then bursts over a waterfall with exuberant face.

In joyful playfulness, I gurgle over river beds,
ephemeral morning mists soften my craggy face.

White cloud pom-poms dance from peak to pinnacle,
a haphazard waltz to celebrate my frivolous face.

The rising sun warms my ancient crone-stones,
stains in slow saffron blushes my silhouette face.

The south wind feeds the inferno with burning breath,
Anne is the creeping snake fleeing the wildfire’s face.


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