I know the unspoken

all my hope
is invested in the mountain.
It harbours possibility,
maybe, an encounter.
Many childhood's delicate soul
is hidden on that mountain.
I don’t know where your smile lies abandoned
or your unfinished stare.
Your half-
buried body betrays
what has been done.
Harm befell me when I looked back. 
I grasped the truth – 
the encounter's last gift –
too late.
Remember harvest-time?
Wheat, as it fell to the blade,
showing the world who we are.
The poplars shivered that day,
the air lifted
with the joys of spring.
I don't know what we talked about.
But I know what was unspoken.
It went astray in the rustling poplars.
It was moving in our blood the unspoken.
But it's too late –
so late,
that I will find no-one
even if I climb the mountain.
No night between us 
nor fire nor waiting.
There is only a mountain!