I awake precarious
stranded on Apennine peak
Thrusting through quilted clouds
Ache in small of back
Back of mind
Drenched in dew
Parched from a night's excursion
Longing for snow melt
Heard laughing over stones
No longer listening
In the valley far below
In the garden
far away
out of reach
lost to the sea
Author notes
penne, anyone?
http://the-moon.wikispaces.com/Eratosthenes
A contest entry
- Prose, Prose, and more Prose.(with options) by Cyanide Dreams.
600 points, ended November 1, 24 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Words softly whispered in one's head. You describe an exquisite quiet.
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Wonderful personification.
How apt a way to become immortal through calculative words!
Love
Myra
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Penne indeed! The feather is mightier than the sword...
the mountains named for the Latin for feather or quill, the first pens. Also a pasta and a sandwich that is spicy in many ways. Eratosthenes being the Greek who invented latitude and longitude; and for first calculating the size of the earth from the noon shadow in wells dug 60 miles apart. The name of a crater on the moon, at the end of the lunar Apennines... -
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Of course, you knew I would google it!
Which I did. 
Your surname is such an inspiration. But so is the texturedness of your poetry.
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