My Human Disguise.
I lived on Custer, a white hood
Filling my living room window.
On a June afternoon I stood
On the summit in blooms of snow,
An hour later in sun below.
The peak was seldom where you were
And never where you were not sure
A great presence of white and pink,
As if by thinking, made you think.
The Utes called it “Tava” or sun,
As if there must be more than one,
Needing light close enough to touch,
To take away, but not too much,
Or soon the mountain would be gone.