Persistence of Memory

The Rockies, the Andes, the Himalayas 
remember. The hands of ice 
scouring and sculpting them. 
Feet of men scrabbling across them and
the ever-insistent force from below
pushing, upward,  upward, ever upward.

They remember the warmth, 
the heat, the light of the glowing sun
and its daily appearances; to them, 
seeming to blink on and off
and then its fading with the eons 
to a distant memory, leaving only 
darkness and silent remote pinpricks
of cold dark light for company.


Kenny A. Chaffin  -  2/9/01