I see Mount Moran everyday,
in the wrinkles of blankets
and the textures of ceilings.
I see that broad glacial,
and iron expanse
in the everyday shifting
of all that is banal in this world.
Moran is all the mundane movements
of this world multiplied into millions,
then formed into something unspeakable;
incredible; almost alien;
both beautiful and perilous.
I see it in my dreams reflected back
upon the waters of Jackson lake,
like some twin mountain
of an upside down underworld
not yet discover by us,
both consecraters and desecraters.
I see that mountain in grains of wood
and the writhing of a woman's hair
upon her bed sheets.
I see the foothills beside her ablaze
so beautiful in the moment,
both smoke and clouds fusing.
I see Mount Moran in my dreams.
I see her and want to see again.
Aaron C. Molden