I approach a dull mountain;
below me,
figures distant
on an innate horizon
wave inscrutable gestures.

In the valley below, people are whispering –
their eloquent dialect
and chill wind’s muttering
seem to relate.

I attempt to converse
with the shrill zephyr,
the rushing stream seems indifferent –
trees and turf nod to the skies.

A colloquial shepherd emerges
absently chiding the mist,
his crook, forked and silent
denies my ascent.

I acquiesce, the path deepens;
inchoate fumes
stifle my passage, glancing back
there is no return.

Silence enfolds me –
an aloof companion;
my vernacular cry
echoes over dull waters.

I have trod bridges –
crossing the guttural clamour
and an abeyance of voices,
the discord of words.