If I write this
it is not to show you the abyss,
but to upturn it and make it a mountain;
to paint for you bullying winds on the summit
that box our ears and forests of larch,
soft as fresh-cut hay, which welcome us
into mottled light to rest our feet on warm
needle cushions; rivers of molten glass
talking to themselves, weaving liquid skeins
over pebbles blinking with mica and quartz,
like the granite of pharaohs; deep blue
trumpet gentians sharing velvet grassland
with sun-dried marmot scatterings and crisp confetti
of mountain avens, where I lie, wrapped
in silver lady’s mantle, watching the world turn.
Jane Angué teaches English Language and Literature in France. Writing in French and English, work has appeared most recently in Le Capital des Mots, Amethyst, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Acumen and Poésie/première. A pamphlet, des fleurs pour Bach, was published in 2019 (Editions Encres Vives).