Blue mountain.
Sky the colour of peaches
ripe on the bough.
The man, crossing the chasm
on a fallen log
that spans great echoing depths,
sees only his fear.
The beauty that surrounds him is simply illusion.
His concern is every footstep that he takes,
edging forward on the tilt of the log
high above fierce torrents.
He climbs up through a canopy of wild trees
that cling tight to the rock face.
Standing outside the frame
I observe the whole of the picture
noting its beauty,
the sense of peace that it gives me.
I cannot hear the thunder of the melt streams
hidden by white cloud,
but their presence is made known to me by the terror
in the eyes of the travelling man.
The stick on his hunched shoulder is so overladen
that he is forced to stoop as he walks,
almost losing his balance.
He would rather be at home with his wife and children
than trudging this path alone.
When I was young I struggled just like this poor man.
Now I am old I write him into this poem.
Trevor Joh Karsavin Potter.
15th. May 2021.
Poem No. 6, for the month of June, in the Hiroshige Calendar Prints Series.
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