watterson

Fjellvant

Fjellvant makes his ungodly return
to the mountains. Not particularly reminiscent
of Olympian oracles or triumvirate Vishnus
or Jötunheimr giants, but he toils along the trek
using the same size 10 footpath as always.

Fjellvant's friends try to stop him
from taking the lonely ascent,
keep his butterfly feet from fluttering
up the the mountainside or maybe
they could brave this climb together?

They look at Fjellvant, see how the altitude
has made his features rough, eroded
like a cliff's face. A man trying to become marble--
please, let's climb together--
but Fjellvant has already pulled away for his hike.
I need space, he says.

So what can they do?
The mountains have already claimed him
(for today, tomorrow, tomorrow's tomorrow).
Give Fjellvant his space, he always comes back down to us.

But the climb is so long,
so quiet,
and when Fjellvant is on top of that peak,
dreaming hellish hallucinations of heaven,
and the clouds are an endless fog that stretch
to the horizons, covering all the humanity he knows,
Fjellvant is so close to falling,
he doesn't realize anything's wrong.

----
apr 8, 2017
*fjellvant= norwegian adj, being accustomed to walk in the mountains.