Deity

Albert Bierstadt
Sunrise on the Matterhorn

Travelling by train from Paris to Milan,
Spooked and saddened from too much movement;
My uneasy rest was cut short by the customs official demanding my passport
I had been in one of those sleeps which do not let go of the heart,
And was thick-tongued and weepy, searching blindly in the dark sleeping car for my papers.
The official looked upon me with something that I now understand to be compassion;
“Regardez-vous mademoiselle,” said he, and sent the blinds screeching up;
“You won’t forgive yourself for having missed this.”
Outside the window the sun was rising.
The Swiss alps ranked in the rosy light and impossibly high above them,
The Matterhorn leaned his white head down over them to peer at the tiny toy hurtling past it.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.