Misty Mountain

Hagebutte II - Dog Rose (Rose Hip) II - 39 x 39 cm

IN BAYERISCHZELL

There’s something archaic

about this, not old fashioned,

cold foggy air, mist, always

moving, wearing a spicy

tannenbaum fragrance, mixed with pine

it’s not like shopping or office work

and if I ever see another fucking computer

and something else, undefinable, a twinge

at the back of the mind, or down lower

where the hypothalamus talks lizard

to an uppity but all too impressionable

cerebral cortex, you’d think, and this, as we

are hiking the rim of valley and mountain’s

foothill, the long lonely way down, my big toes hurt

and even before we can discuss, label, file them  

certain feelings flare up and then die out, hardly felt at all

and sometimes we spot through the shredded clouds

the wood-balconied inn in whose antlered hall

I will eat Zwiebelrostbraten and fried potatoes

and drink at least two glasses of beer, and Karin

will dine on fish and potato salad, the light

of our candle flaring out while I observe a

woman absently staring back at her husband’s

absent stare, the long

lonely way down, a waitress bending her rosy shoulders,

clean blond head and plump cleavage

forward, like a serving girl

in a genre painting, to re-light our candle. 

4 Non Blondes - Misty Mountain Hop