the mountain

The mountain is pink
lying dying and almost dead
pulled apart and bleeding
her blood diluted by the pain of sap
and fear and rain
pink as flesh pulled back
and I can see her bones
skeleton of ravaged old wood
lying black and cold in the soil, now barren
and its as though from my window on the road
real life can not be reached
and roots are too far
covered in poc marks and scars.