For Lara, Mark and Ivan
Three figures emerge
Following the course of a stream
Hemmed by banks of winter grass
Over beds of acid green moss
And the cooling sparks of tiny flowers
Climbing one a vallei
The second a cleugh
The third not even thinking
Onto a treeless plateau dotted with grouse
Where hares flicker
Deer career
And frogs dissemble
The mountain watches
Holds them close
Enfolds them in a blizzard
Beguiles them
And guides them
By compass and contour
And glimpses
Of her sisters and rivals
Between breaks in the cloud
These are hers
For now
To be drawn on and deceived
Encouraged and received
With grace
Step on step on steeper step
She counts their breaths
Marks the arc of their approach
As it tingles up her flank
Sharpening in proximity to her summit
Each footfall a fraction heavier
A line scored harder by altitude
Until
On top
She sees them clearly
Squeezes them
And lets them go
TWISTED::COLON 