A Mind without a Summer

Bottled, borborygmic Tamboras,
Magma chambers of the common mind
Are building to blow and overflow

These tilted slopes history has grown,
This steeply terraced and fertile soil,
Cultured, climbing toward heaven still,

However troubled by drums rumbling
Underground. The idea was always
Only a little bit visible,

And the mind was always perilous,
But, so long as it was ascending,
Why decline the temptation to rise

Into the gathering mists with it?
The crater will prove the peak’s surprise.