The Road Wound Upward

I dreamed of the mountains again and felt the rising joy as the road wound upwardthrough the dark woods then villages rank with silage and spattered with cow manureall the needs of the body I didn’t know any better geraniums a vibrationagainst the ancient chalets no one else around the clattering of waterin log troughs unheard at that hour of afternoon and I felt the names on my tongue Huémoz Chésières Barboleusaz as the view opened out with the high snowfields beyondalmost too bright to bear It was my life you see and everything still to doIt was spring there was a path the meadow full of wildflowers leading to a little cemeteryI passed a man and a boy sitting beside the road they raised their hands to meThis poem appears in the July 2026 print edition.