Mountain Scene
by David Radavich
The moment feels eternal. This snow
is what I think of, how your eyes
glisten against your wine glass,
a delicate red, flowing river
that complements the color of your skin
and stops any movement of breath.
And when I listen to you breathe,
air seems to hover hushed on snow
before it melts slowly over your skin
and migrates toward your eyes,
this quiet undulating river
that flashes in translucent glass
or pure water over glassy
surfaces of stone, a waiting breath
about to speak of the river
down the mountain, how snow
dissolves like forgotten eyes
that leap out beyond the skin.
Darkness holds us inward, the skin
we relish late at night, the glass
window we look out with clear eyes
into the vale where breath
disappears, as if a ball of snow
were thrown into the river.
Even now you are the river
that moves across my skin
and touches my bones like snow,
reaching quietly through glass,
leaving an imprint of breath
that mirrors your departed eyes.
If love really is found in the eyes,
then what we saw over the river
is like time’s insistent breath
that never stops, waves on the skin
lingering beyond the glass
reflection of our steps in snow.
Your breath is gone, your warm skin
a river beyond my eyes, the snow
I look toward still as glass.
is what I think of, how your eyes
glisten against your wine glass,
a delicate red, flowing river
that complements the color of your skin
and stops any movement of breath.
And when I listen to you breathe,
air seems to hover hushed on snow
before it melts slowly over your skin
and migrates toward your eyes,
this quiet undulating river
that flashes in translucent glass
or pure water over glassy
surfaces of stone, a waiting breath
about to speak of the river
down the mountain, how snow
dissolves like forgotten eyes
that leap out beyond the skin.
Darkness holds us inward, the skin
we relish late at night, the glass
window we look out with clear eyes
into the vale where breath
disappears, as if a ball of snow
were thrown into the river.
Even now you are the river
that moves across my skin
and touches my bones like snow,
reaching quietly through glass,
leaving an imprint of breath
that mirrors your departed eyes.
If love really is found in the eyes,
then what we saw over the river
is like time’s insistent breath
that never stops, waves on the skin
lingering beyond the glass
reflection of our steps in snow.
Your breath is gone, your warm skin
a river beyond my eyes, the snow
I look toward still as glass.
David Radavich has published a variety of poetry, drama, and essays. His plays have been performed across the US and in Europe. His latest books are Unter der Sonne / Under the Sun: German Poems (Deutscher Lyrik, 2021) and Here's Plenty (Cervena Barva, 2023).