by Peter Groves

We may have scaled them,
said that they are conquered,
measured and accounted for
but it is beneath
them we live.
Beneath them lies
our history.
Beneath them we
have tried to order nature
to pursue our industries
and to plot and wage our wars.
Tourists try to capture
the memory of them on their phones.
Poets and artists still attempt
to reflect their grandeur
while novelists and filmmakers continue
to weave stories around them.
Regardless of what we
have done or what we
will do,
the mountains remain as they are,
seismic flexing reminding
us of a force, older
and greater than the record of our efforts.
They draw up
our eyes and raise our thoughts
higher than the spires of cathedrals
and the reach of skyscrapers to render
whatever we trust
or believe into insignificance,
projecting a wisdom that humbles
the scope of our aspirations.