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.