Mt Lincoln

Riding the four-wide chair alone
To top of Mt Lincoln
Clapping my rented skis together
I’m overcome by purple alpine aether
Holy enchantment mountain light
On snow-feather rock cornices,
I was so literally high
At the twelve-thousand feet offload
I slid to a stop
Breathless
On the matted ice
In every direction snowy Sierra peaks
Appeared between great white pure clouds
Turning,
Some had dark rain
Some had lightning