I keep opening my eyes
to endless expanses of river-snaked forests,
closing them to almost-dreams of nearly-poems.
Clouds keep spinning into fingers
that keep reaching for the mountain,
but only on occasion do we pass through one
that has condensated condescendingly enough to touch us.
I'm the only foreign face inside this bus,
but the mountain knows that we
are simply momentary visitors--
tourists, every single one of us.
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