THE RED MOUNTAINS

^^ ^

In the shadow of the red mountains. In the dim light of oncoming darkness. 

Along pathways of iron-bearing hematite, amid pigments of limonite and magnetite. 

Your loved one stares down through flowing water at a stone.

A stone like a dream or a poem may be extracted from us. 

We are its minerals

This stone is rectangular, a trail marker or a tablet.

^^ ^

Your loved one has climbed the night ridge and entered a cratered lake there. 

In the center of the lake lies an enormous five-pointed star, as supple as a sea star. 

A star encircled by a lake resembles a pentacle. 

A sea star sees in the dark by way of tiny ocelli at the tip of each limb. 

A poet sees in the dark by way of her writing hand. 

A friend who came close to death––but did not die––is in the lake with your
loved one. 

The lake is electrified.

^^ ^         

A lake may be a window to the underworld––or, an inland sea at the cusp of 
emergence.

The Red Mountains make for a rising state, an inversion of the regenerative womb,
the Hypogeum, 

Each lap of dream sleep generates a surge in blood flow.

Erections in men. Clitoral blossoming in women. 

Regarding the maternal body: 

There is no other place of which one can say with so much certainty
: I have been there. (Freud)

^^ ^

“I wish you and your work well,” the dreamer says, signing off. 

“To die is to walk the path of the dream without returning,” say her Relatives. 

Near the pinnacle of your loved one’s ascent, a star in a lake appeared. 

Astro meaning “star-shaped,” cytoma meaning “cell tumor.”

sea,                                                          
a       to                                             
like          others                                                                                 
is                      it  is                                                          
death                              hard                                                     
some                                            as a                         
To                                              rock.”  (Elias Canetti)


Your loved one may be yourself. 

The friend who survived near-death may be your loved one.

The friend believes it is our duty to be joyful. 

Sing, friend, with a garnet tenderness.

Sawnie Morris

Sawnie Morris is the author of Her, Infinite, winner of a New Issues Poetry Prize. Other honors include a Poetry Society of America Bogin Award, the Ruth Stone Poetry Prize, inclusion in Best American Experimental Poetry, a feature in Poets & Writers Magazine, and a chapbook in The Sound A Raven Makes (Tres Chicas), winner of a New Mexico Book Award.

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