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Mortal Limit

5.00   (1 votes)

I saw the hawk ride updraft in the sunset over Wyoming.

It rose from coniferous darkness, past gray jags

Of mercilessness, past whiteness, into the gloaming

Of dream-spectral light above the lazy purity of snow-snags.

 

There--west--were the Tetons. Snow-peaks would soon be

In dark profile to break constellations. Beyond what height

Hangs now the black speck? Beyond what range will gold eyes see

New ranges rise to mark a last scrawl of light?

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