The mountains climbed in
through my eyes
and wormed their way
into a brain not accustomed
to such a high form of beauty.

And then there were highways
leading to plains,
their flat nothingness
pierced with the holes
of burrowing mammals.

Then there was the bayou,
crawdads we played hooky
to catch and the shrimp,
huge piles of shrimp laid out
on newspaper-covered tables.

and still I followed, running
past beaches and corn fields,
poverty and riches,
lingering always,
on the memory of mountains.