The wind-stop top
volcanic heaped
bottom down
burps intermittent.
Wisps of clouds
sweep its ridges
between Hades and Heaven
the beach I walk is exquisite.
Of grounded glass and minted pumice
where minor gods have fornicated
I, a human, am an intrusion,
though I, myself, am of volcanic action,
ever on the edge of leaping off cliffs,
held back by the gravity of timidity
held fast by the anticipation of finding my Zoltan
I caress the volcano one last timem
before returning to the sightseeing bus.
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