Mountain Meaning Iii - Death of Anthropocene

As I hike The winding Rattler paths of Green Mountain It’s tempting to think Beneath my skidding leather shoes These marbles of red stones Were scattered and tossed here Just today Laid out While I was still eating breakfast Though I know The mountain is rising from iron boots Shedding its skin Shaking to wind Alpines cracking its rocks like eggs Boulders giving way if you imagine a day When the ranges are here No more Rolling down In their own tide of time Plunging without trace To the bottom of a future azure sea I have a strange thought That if a black bear foraging this early autumn Came along and found me Perched on the moss of this throne of stone Writing poetry And began to devour me I would keep my quiet Until his stomach was full Lumbering home in a bonnet of sunset Me Set free to the universe Two women walk by Shatter my silence with growls and hunger One says to the other “Well, he’s doing a lot better. He’s been sober one year but he told me He really doesn’t see the point to life Anymore. "I mean, what do I say to that?"