more to a heap of dirt

      MOUNTAIN                                    

We’ve placed a cross on your shoulder, 

erected a transmission tower,

planted a spindly flag.

We’ve tunneled through you,

necklaced you with roads, paths, 

apartments, mansions clutching 

like pearls at your throat.  

You, who pressed forth

forced by unrelenting magma, 

who rose

earthen breast, back

primordial.

Now the city gathers round,                                         

temples, spires

obeisant to your deep bass voice—

but freeways, office buildings, industrial parks

oblivious. 

We live beside you in tiny flats

watch phantasmal screens,  

eat, recline, 

groom ourselves for the daily backandforth

squirm into leather

for nights in halogen town.

Still—certain hours—you block the sun:

chilled by your encroaching gloom,

we peer from windows, terraces, to see you 

throw off our ropes and stays, to loom.

                                          Brian Campbell

.....