Mountain On Flying Leaf Poem by Felix Bongjoh

Mountain On Flying Leaf
(i)

When a mountain
weighs down
on me, bulk carrying
my legs breaking,

my split shrieking
shoulders sinking,

I track that leaf
spiraling down
in free fall
from a swinging branch

in a yard of light
flying and jumping
twigs in wings
piloted by cream air.

I follow fingered
blades of grass
shaking their waists,

as they kick dust
and lick air
rooted into their stools
of parched earth.

A light dropping leaf
shrugs off all rock,

nosediving into
a narrow space
with no pace, no wheel,

every ribbon
of dropping swirling
leaf a bird

sailing quietly
in a world
of wings and feathers.

(ii)

A leaf carrying
a gall stands
on tottering legs,

the bump growing
into a hill.

The lace leaf flower
holds a standing
mountain

rising from
its navel
to flame and glow,

an ant climbing
to the peak
of its stemmy
narrow rock

holding its head up
to the star
of sun nearest earth,

the mountain
I never climb

in the smoldering
crystals of air's
stair case to sky,

this candelabra
of glows and flashes
above me

spun by a mountain
of me under
a glass sky breaking

into shards
and flying mites
to bite me
into a life
with thorns

and wind-drifted
bracts crawling
up the mountain
of another lace leaf,

a flower spinning me
up its stiff height
to burst into the light.

How stars carry
mountains of stars
flipping out

lace leaf tongues
when there's nothing
else to lick

in the wallowing air
of billowing sparks,

glowing coals of will
swelling flames
of rising stamina

in a pine bonfire
with juniper flesh
swooshing out smoke,
its slithering breath.