All that climbing to forget a mountain
is no more than an emblem
at the intersection of ten thousand
floating lives.
                   We tell ourselves the place
we stand is solid ground while we count corpses
that say it never was. It never
has been. Under the weight of all
these broken lives whisper war
is the luxury we cannot afford. Our lives
depend on fragile performances of humanity
fleeting as the floating mountains
on which, always disappointed,
we always stake them.

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