POEM: On The Road From Ollytamba

Light rubs its dusty fingerprints on Ollytamba.
It leaves a tarnished copper shade of red, a fatigued light, slender.
Ollytamba kneels before the mountain gods who stand around
Snowpeaked, white like bearded prophets, protectors
Of this resting place for warriors.

The mischievous winds find their way in, they chase
Their tails round and round like a dog at play,
Circling the plaza, dizzying the children who play tag

I watch the mountain gods recline
And the fog stretch her white legs and milky arms.
Intertwined, arms and legs cover the lustful mountain,
she places herself on top, filling the
open space that he has made for her curvy form.

Dusk has announced its presence like a shy child
who will not make eye contact.
The mountain and the fog rest, breathing in unison
Beneath a moon smile that points like a finger to the Southern Cross.

Tomorrow, light will be born of this union,
The sun god will be reborn – Ollytamba
will become a child of the fresh squeeze morning.