There are thing you learn from mountain air.
Like how to pluck constellations from
the clouded riverbed of the sky,
or how elk differ from deer differ from moose.

That’s what things do out here
differ.
The water differs
it’s still blue
but its so blue
and so clean
and so cold.
Everything is clearer.

There’s a sticky sap that drips
like tears out of the stoic pines.
It stains my fingers,
gluing me to the fallen needles.

The sky here is big.
Not just big,
but open and broad.
A skylight to
the universe.

The lack of oxygen
leaves room for adventure.
Urge leaks from the cracked granite rocks
and whistles in the dry wind.
I go, I should go, I would go.
I will go.

The flowers here explode from the mountainsides.
Bright sticks of dynamite,
reds and yellows and blues.
Each more intense than the last.

This is what purple mountain’s majesty looks like.
This is what adventure feels like.
This is what clarity sounds like
This is my mountain air.