The Road Wound Upward
I dreamed of the mountains again
and felt the rising joy
as the road wound upward
through the dark woods
then villages rank with silage
and spattered with cow manure
all the needs of the body
I didn’t know any better
geraniums a vibration
against the ancient chalets
no one else around
the clattering of water
in log troughs unheard
at that hour of afternoon
and I felt the names on my tongue
Huémoz Chésières Barboleusaz
as the view opened out
with the high snowfields beyond
almost too bright to be