The mist knows the secret mountain hollows. 
She plays there naked in the late of dawn
Where flowers wild and the young brook follows
Into the sacred deep of nymph and faun.
She dances, unfolding like the sunrise.
She dews the aching upward thrust of pine.
She shudders with ecstatic silent sighs
Where mountain hard and warmth of sun align.
Can I fix the awe and wonder of mist
Upon the mountainside with puny words
And feckless rhyme? She has embraced and kissed
Me to the arch of sky and soar of birds,
     And I can pen only glimmers of the light
     She gifts to me as day comes in from night.