my heart is not a mountain

my heart is not a mountain
my heart is not so strong
timber, for my limbs are falling
cascading down to earth
and heavy, hear my morrow calling
i seek a pillow, a bed, a glowing hearth

fetch me, my lover, a quilt
to wrap these bones
this trembling flesh
my memories betray me still
oh weary gnomes
the keepers of my trouble
the tillers of my field
tiny toilers of my busy mind
who keep my sick concealed

my life's become a quest
but for what am i searching
guide my aging hands
but touch soft upon this skin
that i may one day become the land

oh aching spine
the earth's collapsing crust
the bending branches of my body
do honor, and do trust
i will bend into you
and let me sway
i will give in to you
like night to day

and as these ligaments of mine
they wither
and as the sinews start to fray
i will unwind unrelenting into you
i will break, i will obey
my holiest mountain, not my heart but yours
you are the religion that is truest, and of course
you are the end and the beginning
i have been vainglorious, i have overlooked the source

now, feet facing backwards
i am ready to walk home
knowing finally that she is here with me
knowing at last what will be done
the purpose is pointless
we journey all the same
to find the seed and reap a harvest
in an otherwise infertile plain
to milk the marrow of our bones
and feel the real
the pulsing of our veins

for sustenance, for guidance and fortitude
we clamber on, we cannot remain
we will arrive, at this journey's end
with the question dusted from our lips
we are the reason, we are the answerwe are life's intent

painting by amy ross