There Are Some Men

There are some men who should have mountains to bear their names to time. Grave-markers are not high enough or green, and sons go far away to lose the fist their father's hand will always seem. I had a friend: he lived and died in mighty silence and with dignity, left no book, son, or lover to mourn. Nor is this a mourning-song but only a naming of this mountain on which I walk, fragrant, dark, and softly white under the pale of mist. I name this mountain after him.