An excerpt from

Mountain Tea: & Other Poems
by Peter Van Toorn

Mountain Going

With rips in my pockets big enough to
put my fists through, my coat in great shape too,
I made for the mountains, Muse, true to you.
Jesus, the dreams of love I'd wake up to!
Skies I wore for hats! So who came by, hole
in his shorts, staying the night at Hotel
Big Bear, to hear his stars swish and rustle?
Me, Tom Thumb, dreamer. Doodling my cuffs full,
leaning up against a ditch slope, left heel
under my bum, I'd smell valley wine, feel
it stick to my brows like a sweat, and start
deep shadow songs -- rhyme them full of moon light,
twanging the red elastics of my right
running shoe, its sole just jammed to my heart.

from Rimbaud