Tag Archives: Mike Cole

Mike Cole

Climb

For Jane

At 20,000 feet,
roped in a line of silhouettes,
stepping single file
across a sky scraped clean
by wind so strong
she can lean her full weight against it,
she knows a hurt so deep
she closes her eyes
before each step and builds
new reasons for going on,
knows how new
the Bolivian light will seem
those mornings after the climb
when she wakes late
in her room in La Paz,
stands in the open window
looking out at the mountain
that crushed her spirit
to dark stone
then gave it back to her
with brighter wings
to carry her between here
and her next climb.


Mike Cole lives and writes and waits on the arrival of poems in the mountains of Central California near Yosemite.


 

 

Mike Cole

With You

(for Christy)

At Horseshoe Lake,
a pocket of snowmelt,
you swam in the rain,

and on the other shore
those hikers in their ponchos
leaned on walking sticks

and contemplated
your abandon
to cold water.


Mike Cole lives and writes and waits on the arrival of poems in the mountains of Central California near Yosemite.


 

 

Mike Cole

Glacier Point Moonrise

Tonight the full moon will climb
the curved shoulder of Half Dome
and we will stand at the lip
of Yosemite Valley and watch
as the miles of spires in the east
are tinged in pale silver


Mike Cole lives and writes and waits on the arrival of poems in the mountains of Central California near Yosemite.


 

 

Mike Cole

Black Flame

The last time
you came to me
the night broke
into black flame
and I breathed
just once
before I rose
like windborne ash
and swirled to meet you
where we both became
the same idea.


Mike Cole lives and writes and waits on the arrival of poems in the mountains of Central California near Yosemite.


 

 

Mike Cole

Adrift

Somewhere between
continents of ice
a solitary gray whale
barnacled and festooned with
scavengers and other hangers on
drifts in search
of what one might call
love.


Mike Cole lives and writes and waits on the arrival of poems in the mountains of Central California near Yosemite.


 

 

Mike Cole

There is
this morning
snow
on the ridge
out our kitchen window

and we are glad
for the cold
and the brightness.


Mike Cole lives and writes and waits on the arrival of poems in the mountains of Central California near Yosemite.