Climbing Mountains in Mongolia

chrisgonso

All is burnt

Song birds curious
They’re working the larch cones, making little nibbling sounds
Like rain

Хус (Betula platyphylla) suckering in the clearing

I wrote Cайн уу?, Hello, in the snow
For whoever passing herder

Found нохойн хошуу, dog rose (Rosa acicalarus), and three hips
Ate two

Followed a snowy trace up to a pass
Still in the burn

Pen in my pants, against my skin
So it doesn’t freeze

I’m reminded of yesterday’s mountains
And of Abbey
Talking to Abbey yesterday
Conjuring him in a place that’d be good to die
And the crows flying by
And one making water drop sounds in a hollow bucket
Sounds you can’t write

And now putting pen in mouth for a spurt of ink

The most important part about all this is
Walking to the outhouse
Walking between the two гэр (yurts)
And looking up on those trips.
And from down there
Remembering up here.

That’s the most important part.
Knowing up there.

And remembering up there
Down here.

Remember up there
Down here.

February 28, 2014

Previously published in
The Swineherd’s Journal

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