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 bear
It was my life you see
and everything still to do

It was spring there was a path
the meadow full of wildflowers
leading to a little cemetery

I passed a man and a boy
sitting beside the road
they raised their hands to me

This poem appears in the July 2026 print edition.