Matterhorn Redux

The pictures I still have.

All of them, after 31 years.

You, a city goddess

Posing before the summits

Your breasts framed by pack straps,

Dark eyes sheathed behind shades.

Later, drinking hot Wylers

Seated on a mountain boulder.

The frozen cook pots are

Filled with strangely yellow ice.

Just after mid-day,

Standing on the summit,

Still beautiful, your smile glowing,

Only slightly out of breath!

Then the steep descent,

Crampons on ice-filled couloir,

Out and on the glacier, roped,

Tears in your eyes and scared!

You were so amusing,

The vital, alluring goddess,

Self conscious and apologetic

 For her sweaty female scent.

All I could detect downwind

Was the heady sexual aroma

Of fragrant mountain heather

In your natural perfume!

We could have easily

Died together there, you and I,

But life, as we both know,

Is never perfect…

(Matterhorn, July 1976)