Mal de Montagne

I follow the herd into the cloud
trees shimmer with crystal, the mountain glowers.

Through soft spray of powder
skiers glide like so many crows

descending into the cave of the valley.

My limbs ache, stomach falls away
as the white dust settles on waxed jacket.

Above the cloud the slopes disintegrate
into a void of indistinct movement

black ants traversing the wind

I want to scream my name
untie my brains and lay a net

of safety over this awesome immensity.

Later, legs heavy we trudge the après ski streets,
the odd or beautiful girl turns heads

we melt into the night like hungry phantoms
searching for our bodies.

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