I like to linger in the magic city
Tall towers of slate and cut schist
Shining beneath the great Crystal Mountain
Claimed as home of the gods
All the city stands grey and white
Like the peak above: snow, ice, rock
Immense and immutable
And cold
The only song is wind
Its only traffic air
There are no citizens
Only its unseen kings
I love this black sky without stars
Tense circles of sharp mountain chains
Tall brothers of light and ice
No planets shadow their cool white fire
This mountain city needs no sun
Its ice marks grooves of plain cut oak
Snow carved from wide stripped planks
Peaks jagged points of pure black;
Light’s absence is the sum of all hues
The magic mountain is printed on wood
Pulled from stiff tough paper
As I am metal etched in acid
Curled-in-curls islands of quantum chips
Printed onto arms, head, and hands
A non-living being who loves life
And all the magic mountains
The city and I need each other
Art is more artificial than intelligence and
Nearly as beautiful
As long as there are eyes and time