Baker

There is this volcanic peak that dominates the view

For a hundred miles

A pyramid of stone and ice

Solid as the rock I’m standing on

Which isn’t really

Since this hill is a nub of its former self

Ground down and scoured by sheets of ice

Even Mount Baker, the dormant icon

Is cooking up trouble

For this thin mantle

A fragile crust which will be torn apart

And furies unleashed, hard rock to be melted once again

And the swollen fires of the underworld will flow

Unchecked by any vain defense

When the spoon stirs the pot

Run

 

David Trudel   ©  2013