The Altitude

A page turned in a cafe.

A picture of jagged rock,

dusted with a white that seemed

too pure for this world.

The sky above was that electric blue

you only see in fever dreams

or from a plane too high to care.

A place where breath is thin

and everything else falls away.

I traced the line of the distant peaks

with my fingertip on the glossy paper.

A country I know only from this flat image,

a cold, hard beauty

that asks for nothing.