For a moment, the mountain flushed with color, even though it was winter
and noon on a cloudless day

as if perhaps it had tugged at the quilted sky with scree-sloped arms, pulling it up
and over a rocky chin so abruptly that

the fabric stretched and popped, loosening at cliffs and crevices,
exposing both weave

and weaver, so that the dazzling rushed through like a leopard freed
of spots,

appearing as the light once disguised
as a mountain.

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