Grief (Mountains)

Some days
we wake up
inconsolable
atop a mountain
of bones.

We settle 
upon the summit,
snow caps waiting for
the full sun of hoped-for
summer.

If the mountain
is tall enough
we may never
melt free
and pour back down
to the green lands;

in the mountains of bones
some peaks remain
frozen forever.

A day will come
when we pass and become
bones waiting
to be grieved
and covered by those
who loved us once;

for their sake and my own
I pray I shall not end up
part of a mountain
that will never thaw.