Cradle mountain

Cradle mountain - The twin deities

At close of day, I am in a hill house secret,
secreted in a room with lamplight, Latin primer and fatigue,
Another hill, far greater, massive shouldering it's
way onto the earth, unfurling the horizon,
disturbing the crust, engaging the locked admiration
of millions, for millennia.

Then, before that, before us, before all the fauna,
before the soft flourish of vegetation,
the melting of glacial slow time into rivers and lake,
gave it the first mirror with which to look down
upon itself, cold, grey, austere in the morning,
warm forgiving and flushed in the summer evenings,
both goddess and god, of everything,
in this neighbourhood,
now-
Stolen through lens and flaring processions of people,
She and he stand, I see them
as God, Goddess of the postcard pristine,
but when we're not looking,
they are snickering indifferent
in the high top winds that brush their mantel,
their arms outreached to us across the lake,
beckoning us to come and look,
on eternity.