6.
The campaign continues
to the summit.
I know this mountain:
there’s no pain in the world
taller than its crest.
Step by slow step
an old wound climbs
its ragged ravines.
A stream of pristine water
yearns a new home
in a thirsty soul.
Sick leaves
hang stiffly
like fragile thimbles.
I know the inheritance
of birds and people:
the silence, the hollowness…
The campaign continues.