I kneel so that I may remember this
without words, this mountain without
a wasted breath speaks and I want to
remember the way I felt listened to.
So I close my eyes and breathe in the aroma
I smell peeled apple and peppermint, moss
and dried roses, orange blossom water in my throat
and I taste the words of the mountain, a few drops
that make me swirl in wild silence
the mountain is calm, always
in the way it notices the offerings of mortals
it stands untouched, in my arms
as a hay field holds the Sun’s amber light.
George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 Journal. George’s blogs, essays and letters have appeared in USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, The Atlantic, Havana Times, South China Morning Post, The Buffalo News, and more.
See all his poems on Tea House here.
