drinking mount shasta

mount shasta in the clouds
was the way she peered as mists unwound
near fog tendriled river between floods.
that seemingly smiling snowy stone face with hidden frown
was without clue or hint of volcanic crown.

before she blew the last time
there were two peaks or so
until took off placid mask,
gnashed earth and let it go.
she lost her top in one big blow.

now through all time we’re bound.
that mountain is always around
for sunrise and sunset to paint.
it’s frozen reaches melt right down,
clear crystal geyser quench from roxanne town.


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