Giants – A poem.

When the mountains are devoured
by the soft, white tongue
of the sky, the world ceases to exist

for a moment. Everything is erased—
and I am isolated, a tiny lake
surrounded by land.

Only magic could do this, but I know
that magic doesn’t exist.
Not really.

But tell that to the mountains,
swimming in the belly of the sky
and waiting to be broken
into hail.

JKolasch