Rainier appears as
a mere thumbprint—
hot breath
on the glass of
matte-blue air
over the sway of
my stone-river route

Roaring hoarse in this
mind-market we’ve
hunched in un-doubt—
but simple as a
smudge on the sky:
too much in
too much out

Subtle suggestions—I’ll
liken, describe, repose in
the way that
I can’t here convey
the hazy hue
nor how it placed itself
around a mountain