I saw the mountains smoke
And knew the Blame.

But why?

With so few woods,
Loftier ridges,
Towering crags.

The Ancient, the Beautiful,
Lives beyond memory;
The Living are taken
(As we all must):
In this kindling, and Feasting,
Of August.

Smoke's Memory lingering
But a few days above us,
To be ultimately swallowed up
By the endless Blue.

08/11/2004