Sleeping Giants

I’m closer to the sky up here.
The clouds sit on my head.
Their shadows fall on the
mountains like a watercolor.

They’re massive, crumpled giants.
Jagged elbows and folded knees
hide under a blanket
sewn with pine needles.

Someday they’ll stand up.
Like Babel, they’ll become
miles-high creatures
with bark fingernails and stone pupils.

Smoke fuming from their ears,
flames from their nostrils.
Backs cracking with rockslides,
each step shaking the earth.

Either stretching high or lying wide,
dormant or deadly.
Do not move a muscle.
Don’t wake a sleeping giant.

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