From Tent Trees, Shaded Below

Once you’re lost in these mountains,
You can’t tell the world still goes—
You know it does, it’s got to,
But you can’t tell, you can’t feel,
It’s going—and you might be
Gone yourself, for all you know,
Under silver skies, under
These hammer blows. The anvil
Wavers, about to shatter
With the pounding doubt, about
To topple from frightened blows.
The mountains rise thickly treed,
Absorbing news of the world.
It won’t reach you anymore.