Original Face

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The smooth, fresh snow of youth,

glowing with light still whole,

conceals the rough rock faces

sculpted countless lifetimes.

 

What spring-born creature could know

the land’s shape before the winter?

The melting reveals,

but not before it alters.

Cracked rock tumbles

and loose earth washes away.

 

Blue, pink, and yellow surprises

speckle receding white,

as the land awakens slowly,

slipping the blanket off

its bed of green grass,

blood brown soil,

scattered, quiet stone.

The frozen white light shatters

into the many colors.

 

The mask melts at last,

and the terrain

of a well-worn face

appears.

 

I wanted to meet you

while we still wore some snow.

 

I wish I could have seen

you through your seasons.

 

And I wanted you to see

how I became.

I wanted someone

to know.

 

But it’s just as well.

We will be glad to find each other already unfrozen,

wearing our warm ridges lovingly.

We will share stories of spring and summer,

imagine the blossoming and burning.

Sometimes story is better than sight.

 

Like neighboring mountains,

have we already seen each other

shaped through the countless cycles?

Who can remember?

 

But I will know you when I see you.

You will have, as I do,

a snow capped peak,

a special and secret place

standing out above you,

fantastic,

unreachable.

 

I want to gaze up at your original face,

hidden forever by first snow,

so the light can tease me

with your wink.

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