At The End of my Street - Feb. 13, 2026

look west from my house

a leering mountain stands,

abrupt, jagged, with a sneer-

carved expression that says,

stop.  right.  there.

so people hike the wrinkles,

cross over its cheeks

wander up the shaven face

burled with scars and bumps

and breathe in the view

I’m different

I’ll look for the cave I’ve yet

to find, that cuts through

the density, squeezes between

cracks, goes in deeper till I find

the spot where the cold stone

begins to warm

same place I explore

if I meet you