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Every peak is a crater. This is the law of volcanoes,
making them eternally and visibly female.
No height without depth, without a burning core,
through our straw soles shred on the hardest lava.
I want to travel with you to every sacred mountain
smoking within like the sibyl stooped over his tripod,
I want to reach for your hand as we scale the path
to feel your arteries glowing in my clasp,
never failing to note the small, jewel-like flower
unfamilar to us, nameless till we rename her,
that clings to the slowly altering rock
that detail outside ourselves that brings us to ourselves,
those before us knew we would
come and see beyond us.
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